Watching Merapi Mt.(2930 m)
I arrange the words
in the form of lava and rocks
a temple manner to speeches
of forgotten wanderer
then bury your heart
mute your view
silent your voice
I did not write a single word
in a piece
of seismogram paper
beat the words
the ranks of the river dwell
the spirits of the ancestors
'Why nights
so
you are here? ' you asked
I stole the heavens opened
to canvas my rose manner
I gave the fire flower stalks
is the time
simply rocks
Pos Babadan,2001
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Get Your Rocks Off
by Bob Dylan
You know, there's two ol' maids layin' in the bed,
One picked herself up an' the other one, she said:
"Get your rocks off!
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"
Well, you know, there late one night up on Blueberry Hill,
One man turned to the other man and said, with a blood-curdlin' chill, he said:
"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"
Well, you know, we was layin' down around Mink Muscle Creek,
One man said to the other man, he began to speak, he said:
"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"
Well, you know, we was cruisin' down the highway in a Greyhound bus.
All kinds-a children in the side road, they was hollerin' at us, sayin':
"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me!
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cleveland Rocks
(ian hunter)
Three! four!
Three! four!
Three! four!
(bunch of ah-ah-ahs here)
All this energy calling me
Back where it comes from
Its such a crude attitude
Its back where it belongs
All the little kids growing up on the skids are goin
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Jumpin (jean) gene genies, moody james deanies goin
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Mama knows but she dont care
Shes got her worries too
Seven kids and a phony affair
And the rent is due
All the little chicks with the crimson lips go
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Shes livinin sin with a safety pin
Shes goin cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
I got some records from world war two
Ill play em just like me grand dad do
He was a rocker and I am too
Oh cleveland rocks, yeah cleveland rocks
So find a place
Grab a space
And yell and scream for more
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
(bunch of ah-ah-ahs here)
Three! four!
Three! four!
Three! four!
Ohio
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Manner Of Borges I Write Poems In My Old Age
IN THE MANNER OF BORGES I WRITE POEMS IN MY OLD AGE
In the manner of Borges I write poems in my old age
And dream that they are not only imitations
Of poems written by others
When we all were young.
Instead I go on now in the darkness of the night
Because the fear of what will be
Is always so deep in me
It does not need Poetry or Happiness or any other Meaning
Outside itself.
We are small sands drifting on the edge of stars
Lesser beings of a time we will never know
All that we have done comes back to us over and over again
As if we never were
I don’t believe I will ever write Borges lines
He wrote them in his own imagined words
And I must in my own little life
Suffer to the end of time
All I have not been
And never will be.
God Who is Good
God of Love
You gave me so much
You did not have to give me Poetry also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words of Fire
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
With the force of a steam train,
With the speed of a bullet,
You hit me.
You knocked me off my high horse,
Upon the ground I lay,
Unable to move,
Such is the power of your word,
You hit me.
When first I read your word,
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
The threat of culpable damnation,
The gift of undeserved salvation.
You are the living Word,
The only word,
Who was,
Who is,
Who is to come.
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
Words of Eternity,
Words of Fire,
That burn within my heart.
From my youth,
My hair now grey,
Those words of Fire,
Those words of Power,
My life maintained.
poem by Steven Reeve
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the poem that N A M E D itself
it crawls out
slithering snake
onto the paper
spread like the Bible
out before me
and I think:
what shall I write?
and it seeps out
bleeding black
onto the paper
words that form
from the hollow
places inside me
that sometimes
I can’t find
and it calls forth
emotions that
deserve the words
I can’t give
—except
I give them
my pen is sharp
and my hand aches
the words are
pouring out onto
the face
of blank paper
and I am staring
outside myself
not writing the
words but merely
a vessel for them
to contain themselves
when it is done
and the hollow places
are silent I ask:
what shall I
call it?
but it is already
N A M E D
poem by Elizabeth Rebel
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Ode to a Young Lady
[Somewhat Too Solicitious about Her Manner of Expression]
Survey, my fair! that lucid stream,
Adown the smiling valley stray;
Would Art attempt, or Fancy dream,
To regulate its winding way?
So pleas'd I view thy shining hair
In loose dishevell'd ringlets flow:
Not all thy art, not all thy care,
Can there one single grace bestow.
Survey again that verdant hill,
With native plants enamell'd o'er;
Say, can the painter's utmost skill
Instruct one flower to please us more?
As vain it were, with artful dye
To change the bloom thy cheeks disclose;
And oh may Laura, ere she try,
With fresh vermilion paint the rose.
Hark how the wood-lark's tuneful throat
Can every study'd grace excel;
Let Art constrain the rambling note,
And will she, Laura, please so well?
Oh ever keep thy native ease,
By no pedantic law confin'd!
For Laura's voice is form'd to please,
So Laura's words be not unkind.
poem by William Shenstone
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Shame Is On The Rocks
Guess whos walking in your tracks
(dont look back)
Forcing you to re-enact
(making contact)
No-ones safe when
Shame is on the rocks
Theres no faith when
Shame is on the rocks
Bow your head, youll hear his call
(hear his call)
Such a shame, for one so tall
(instant recall)
No-one walks when
Shame is on the rocks
Theres no talk when
Shame is on the rocks
Slower than the second coming
It will happen all the same
Knowing why the spirits broken
Its a shame
Think before you say a word
(someone heard)
Go before you are disturbed
(days are numbered)
Lose your aim when
Shame is on the rocks
Miss the train when
Shame is on the rocks
Shame is the one with power in his hand
There he waits, without a plan
But no-one came, its such a...
Shame is the same for you and you and you
There are no chosen few
Who will remain? its such a...
song performed by by Heaven 17
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I’ll Change My Name
I give you thanks all my people
Congratulations,
For helping change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors.
I’ll change my mother tongue and modify my Alma-matter
I’ll change my voice so you would no longer recognize my songs
I’ll cut all the favorable crops in the farm and plant in it new ones
Just like the frog, I’ll bathe in waters
In order to differ from the toad.
All because I’ll change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors.
I write this to you all my people
That ignorance deserted me from my own land
And I’ll come back no more
I gave it in worlds that you could understand
In parables I left it with others that they would also understand
And tell the ancestors that
I’ll change my name which initials would not be known to them
Tell me if the ancestors are still alive,
Lying there and see you helped me change my name
Tell me if they have lost their eyes and years
That they can’t see and hear
If so, then my people, you those
Whose fire woods have reached your head load
Go and tell them, I say
I’ll change my name which initials would not be known to them.
Once men could now see and hear
That I’ll change my name;
Today that I’m felt with the muse of poetry
In my shabby cloths
I gave it out in words and parables
That you helped me change my name.
Thanks,
Thank you all my people
Congratulations,
Tell them and more handsome rewards from heavens
If not too far from you
Just because you helped me change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors
But still, I’ll change my name.
copyright (c) Sep.2006 E. Korsi Senyo Kumedzina
poem by Korsi Senyo
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Something
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.
I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.
I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.
I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?
I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?
I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?
I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Rocks And The Cliff In Front Of Me
the rocks in front of me
are layered like sheets of paper works
a load i must suppose for
centuries unread
the grasses of the desert
have come to cover
a part of the history of their
shale
i am the shadow at noonday
asking
what these rocks can do for me?
or shall i say
rocks, rocks, boulders of rocks
tell me the heaviness of your
burden
tell the secrets of your
strengths
the echoes keep on rebounding
sounding like the
laughter of a madman
asking the questions and
figuring out the answers
from the same sound
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Like To Think That All These Are But A Game Of Words
that is the impression from the beginning
when i started to scribble
word, and more words, i assured her that they do not
mean anything at all just
words, and words and more words
that even a sunflower wilting and spreading all the seed on her feet
are nothing too but words and more words
nothing to grow nothing to expect like a sprouting something
thus my loneliness, i again assure here, is nothing but a word
my way of taking solitude on the other side to save myself
is another word, and she of course, did not believe me saying
there is more to these words, there is fire in them and i see you burning
there is the sun inside them and the letters glow and the
there is smoke rising from the heads of vowels
from the nonspeaking consonants
i keep hiding the flowers
i bury those that are alive in the silence of my pretensions
until one day she grips me like she is a knife wanting to stab me
and then she stabbed me right in my throat and there i bleed
words, words, and more words coming from the slit
bloody words, and she was convinced, until death, ... and then i vanish.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suggestion Box
It was there on the wall,
a suggestion box,
painted white
as if to symbolize
purity or honesty.
He watched others
write on slips of paper
their suggestions
and then push them through
the thin slit at the top.
It gave some
a sense of satisfaction,
a small smile appeared,
a feeling of awkwardness in some,
maybe they thought
the suggestion dumb
or maybe they’d put in
a series of four letter words
to convey annoyance or grudge.
He didn’t write himself,
didn’t want to waste his time
with words that wouldn’t change a thing,
knowing that maybe when
the box was emptied
it was cast into the refuse bin
without an eye scanning
a single word or set alight
and left to burn.
He watched as others
put in their slips of paper
hoping for a change
or great improvement:
he chose no comment.
poem by Terry Collett
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Words
Smile an ever lasting smile
A smile can bring you near to me
Don't ever let me find you gone
'Cos that would bring a tear to me
This world has lost its glory
Let's start a brand new story
Now my love
You think that I don't even mean
A single word I say
It's only words
And words are all I have
To take your heart away
Talk in ever lasting words
And dedicate them all to me
And I will give you all my life
I'm hear if you should call to me
You think that I don't even mean
A single word I say
It's only words
And words are all I have
To take your heart away
It's only words
And words are all I have
To take your heart away
Da da da da da da da
Da da da da da da da da da da
Da da da da da da da
Da da da da da da da da da da
This world has lost its glory
Let's start a brand new story
Now my love
You think that I don't even mean
A single word I say
It's only words
And words are all I have
To take your heart away
It's only words
And words are all I have
To take your heart away
It's only words
And words are all I have
To take your heart away
song performed by by Boyzone from By Request
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If life’s a river
If life’s a river
Flowing on a course
Long proven to be the best way
To reach the sea, then flow on
If the rocks and boulders
Are the cross
Each one of us is given to bear
Let our river flow around rocks
Over time, the sharp edged rocks will
Be rounded by the rivers flow
Ever there, but not so jagged
As they were before
The ever changing banks have seen
A trickle grow into a youthful stream
And swelling into a mighty river
That sometimes mingles with another
Every river looks for a path
That’s less rocky, a shorter way to the sea
Ever quietly flowing
Ceaselessly searching
Until one day, when it is time
A new path opens
The river changes path
And yet, every river pours into the sea.
poem by Anita Atina
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The Mood
I'll simply be out shopping,
or just going for a run,
when words and phrases hit me,
and a poem has begun.
Sentences and lots of words,
go running through my mind,
and i know if i dont write them down,
my thoughts leave me behind.
So quick hand me some paper!
Just please give me that pen!
If i do not write this down soon,
the words will go again.
poem by Holly Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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Fading ink
Fading ink
~
the words which flowed
from pen to page
in a steady stream
have trickled silently
into a vacant space
silent prose sits impatiently
awaiting the spark
to ignite inspiration
to fire up the pen
and resume its flow
of words from pen to paper
but a nothingness holds
space for rent across the page
a canvas of thought
where words once ran
the old ink fades
in the light of a new day
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Are The Lionheart
Destiny took me in her arms and told me:
"You're a little lost on the fall.
You fall for all the men
You shouldn't fall for all at all."
Ooh, I know she knows, but still I go on,
Well, I'm a fool.
Climbing up the ladders
To slide down the adders
On the rocks,
On the rocks,
On the rocks,
On the rocks...
Joan of Arc walks into my mirror,
A burning sword.
I'd like to cry.
I look into her eyes.
I see she's seen the long days and night.
"Ooh," she says,
"The games are still the same, I see,
But they've changed the names now.
Are all Lionhearts put in parks, apart?"
Lionhearts in the asylums,
Lionhearts tossed at sea,
Lionhearts who've lived their lives, like Arthur.
Lionhearts in cathedrals,
Lionhearts at mournings,
Lionhearts in every seed
But they're sown
On the rocks,
On the rocks,
On the rocks,
On the rocks...
Somebody I couldn't see
Tied me up and put me away,
Here on the rocks,
Here on the rocks,
Here on the rocks...
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Follow The Flow
just follow the flow
of words like the water flowing on the river
like the paper boat on the water flowing to the river
like the river flowing through the edges of banks
above the stones and pebbles of
everything swerving from mountain to mountain
of least resistances
the rocks that block your path you
just kiss them and then you go
following the flow again with the wind above you
just folow the flow of your thoughts in your heart
you do not even like to see
everything is smooth, freely flowing, taking shape
and form and having scent and perfume and so exuding
and then
an explosion inside well kept and taken care of
it is great, it is really great that feeling
so short and quick and yet so appealing
no one hears it except you because you
love it and so it has become so real
to your touch
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Today's Blank Wall
just this day
i face a blank wall
it is enticing
its white hand is signaling me to write my thoughts on it
it is empty and wants to be full
just like myself perhaps who knows
i will disappoint it in the same manner that you have
disappointed me
i will not go near it
i will not say a word
i will not write anything
but i will tell it
'you are beautiful'
untouched, unwritten
pure, blank, mute....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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