Petroleum for the Mind
sometimes, i feel getting to your poetic self
is like prospecting for petroleum?
you dig through layers and layers of years
before you could get to the subtle aspects
of your pscyhe, where you either find black
gold or just echoes of disappointments
the morass of black, if you work hard enough
can be refined to run minds like posh cars on the streets
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Island Fever
Island fever
I think Ive got a touch of island fever
I do believe I feel a bit sauteed
This morning I was just some nonbeliever
Tonight I feel Ive joing a wild crusade
I never thought of life as being breezy
I never thought of time as time to play
I never thought that I could take it easy
But all those feelings changed for me today
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Are finding their way to my brain
Layers and layers of costumes and players
That make my whole life look insane
Palm trees and views I cant believe
Why would I ever want to leave?
I think Ill take my shoes off and go walking
Down beside the caribbean sea.
I like the funny sounds of parrots squawking
I think I hear a hammock calling me.
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Could this be some kind of charade?
Layers and layers of costumes and players
I think I will join the parade
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Could this be some kind of charade?
Layers and layers of costumes and players
I think I will join the parade
I think Ive got a touch of island fever...
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Layers
Above are layers of atmosphere, stratosphere,
Below layers of topsoil, rock and clay,
People in layers rich and poor,
Cities built on top of cities, on top of cities.
Layers of thought conscious to unconscious,
Felt in layers asleep to awake,
In a dream of a dream, of a dream in a dream,
In a dream of a dream, in a dream.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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Layers And Layers
we meet i only have one layer
we talk and i added another layer
we discuss and i added more layers
we dive to a certain depth and of course
i have to add more and more layers
so i may not drown
so i may not be too vulnerable to pressure
and when we come out of the water
our faces surfacing you do not recognize me anymore
i have layers and layers of myself
that even me
i cannot anymore recognize
the violence within
this turbulence of the self
this storm inside us
this layers and layers of selves
covering the truth
how can i ever uncover
what my depths cover from time to time
when you utter my name?
when you tell me that
i am myself.
there is no self.
There is no us.
There is no future.
I have only the past
and My now
Like a fruit basket
all naked on top of your table.
Just take one
The apple perhaps.
And fill yourself.
For the moment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Take A Pick For The Moment
we meet i only have one layer
we talk and i added another layer
we discuss and i added more layers
we dive to a certain depth and of course
i have to add more and more layers
so i may not drown
so i may not be too vulnerable to pressure
and when we come out of the water
our faces surfacing you do not recognize me anymore
i have layers and layers of myself
that even me
i cannot anymore recognize
the violence within
this turbulence of the self
this storm inside us
this layers and layers of selves
covering the truth
how can i ever uncover
what my depths cover from time to time
when you utter my name?
when you tell me that
i am myself.
there is no self.
There is no us.
There is no future.
I have only the past
and My now
Like a fruit basket
all fresh on top of your table.
Just take one
The apple perhaps.
And fill yourself.
For the moment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Layers Of Wet Paint Applied
wet on wet paint on paint
layers of wet paint applied
to previous layered layers
technique requires rapid working
fevered fast compulsive genius painting
art in realms born in new mind expressions
art in realms born in space time multiversity visions
art work fever finished before first layers have dried
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Seven Layers of Heaven
touch,
sight,
taste,
hear,
smell
....
....
seven layers
of heaven
set in me
two more
layers
lost in
myself
clouded
in the views
cast by the world
heaven
comes in
seven
layers
so say hindus,
chinese,
buddhists,
even the muslims
and hell?
between
all
the senses
the heart
that torments
the doers
for
his misdeeds
the fugitive
who manages
to run away from
everybody
but not
the burning hell
of conscience
that pokes
at his top
making him bleed
at the heart
day and night
hell and heaven
bound in this
frame of
heart, soul
and mind
a living hell?
the heaven
in seven layers
the other two layers?
sixth sense?
seventh sense?
two puzzles
that wait
for an answer
hidden
in the realms
that circle
around me
i look into the sky
and journey
to the
eternal sphere
that joins me
to the moons, stars
try taking me
out of this world
and it sure looks different
feel different
a whole new world
the seventh sense
seventh heaven
the sixth?
the woman
who digs
deep into
layers of her own mind
to find the dates
of her own death
and exciting upcoming events
of the world, the tsunami
third world war,
end of the world
a nostradamus
a hell in between all these?
the scorn
from bigots
two layers
of heaven that got lost
in me
covered by
the clouds
five is perhaps
a more lucky number
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Looking Back To The Mountains Strong
when things go wrong
we struggle with so much
silence
sometimes a whistle can make
a good pretension
a slight tap on the back
a hug can make a good compliment
with us
there must be more to this struggle in silence
the years have been adding up
like layers of soil upon a hill
we dig into all these layers
to find roots
they are not dead yet
the trees may have no leaves and
all the twigs may have dried up
and when you cut it
each shall give up its hollowness
too easily in a snap of your finger
the layers are pictures of what we are
what kindness we extended to our shortcomings
we look back to see mountains still strong with their peaks
we look forward to the endless horizon of the seas
there are two suns now
you and I.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So many layers
every poem
i wrote
a part of me
taken off
a butterfly
leaving behind
its larvae
to take on wings
and colours
to explore the world
to give world
another layer
to fascinate over
van gogh
that shed
so many layers
to bring out
those layers
on his canvas
to our hearts
layers of pains,
tears, and......
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Layers
You must consider that everything is layered
The earth has layers of air, water, soil, rock, fire to its
Core
Molten fire
A fruit has layers of an external cover
Something hard, then soft and a
Sometimes a hollow core
A cake has layers too of sugar coating
Moist cake
And chocolate
End layer
My body has layers of skin
Tissue, flesh, bone
And nerves and
Marrow
The core can be hollow
And the mind
The soul has layers of understanding
Layers and layers of consciousness
To sub consciousness
Ego superego
To a layer
Beyond our grasp
Tips of the tongues
Slippages
Déjà vu
Memory gaps
Did we meet somewhere?
Do I remember you?
These sorts of some things
That happen which we know we can explain yet we can’t
Something somewhere
Could be
What if
Was I there somewhere sometime?
She somehow touches me and I feel it
I don’t really remember when
That smile that you wear was the same smile I saw somewhere
Foggy places, opaque faces, vague bodies hugging us in dreams
Murky rivers bathing us hazy rains lazily sizing Zen in showers
Some windows in some house
Remaining close
My heart is light and it is flying like a little light bird on its first wing
There is always a sense of awe and wonder to everything that I do here
An onion peeling, layer by layer, tear by tear
Here. I am. Here I am becoming unfolding to another beginning
No entries and no exits
Off limits, nothing yet allowed.
Meanwhile I am breathing, smelling something somewhere.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Artwork
Artwork is particular, general works are about,
The scrutiny of an artistic work is immense;
The world profoundly elucidates me as an artist,
The big methods employed are far beyond mere thought.
What layers of thought have enriched us and all?
The layers of justice reside in the palettes of the masters;
Demonstrations of peace are derived from the work of art,
We must lunge forward into the dark and make benefit.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Being Lost In Cloudy Skies
it is the longing
denied
that these eyes
inflict pain upon
its macular
hole
it is this darkness
that is missing light
it is this
denial that presses
truth to the
edge
banging its head
against
the unprecedented
wall
the thoughts
fly upon its big
black wings
beak pointing to
a landscape
in that dream
clouds hang
fold upon layers and layers
blurring
the vision of
your destination
it cannot go back
it has no option but to
move and fly some more
it cannot fall
its feet cut by the sharp
edges of the winds
it finally becomes
an illusion
dissolving in flight
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The older the layers, the more each of them is uniform over a great extent; the newer the layers, the more they are limited and subject to variation within small distances.
quote by George Cuvier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Buckskin Bag of Gold
Last night I met him on the train--
A man with lovely eyes;
And he gave me a searching glance
Of sweet charm'd surprise!
I knew 'twas he the lady meant,
Who once my fortune told,
By his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Yes! (Ha! ha!) Yes! (ha! ha!) his is the man
Who does your fortune hold!
He has jet black eyes, a grand moustache,
And a buckskin bag of gold.
Tall! (Ha! ha!) slim! (ha! ha!) quick as a flash!
And twenty two years old;
He has jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
The dearest man you ever saw
How much I love him now!
And if I should live a thousand years,
No other hears my vow.
Like Judas--no, like Jupiter,
He look'd so brave and bold,
With his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Sweet boy bring me the "Morning Call"
Perchance I'll find his name;
At the "Grand Hotel" he must have stopp'd,
I wonder when he came!
He must have charm'd those Lumpkin girls,
So haughty, proud and cold,
By his jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
How can I seek a name unknown?
Oh, tell me where he went!
What is this I read! why Papa's bank
Is robb'd of ev'ry cent!
The thief, it seems, left town last night,
Well, well! I'm nicely sold!
He had jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Black-streets II
Black-streets, seats, base, bases, eat, eats, ate, tea, ask, asks, trace, least, seer;
But, try to succeed in life by doing the right things always!
Because, it is better to help one another than living in hatred and wars.
Black-streets, race, races, traces, track, tracks, tar, tars, star, stars, east, seers;
With the works of love being manifested in the land of joy! !
But try to live by the rules and be able to achieve your goals in life.
Black-streets, art, arts, rat, rats, beat, beats, treat, treats, beet, beets, beast, bleat!
With many years of work and many years of experiences;
But, it is better to share with one another in peace, unity and joy.
Black-streets, Beck, bet, bets, belt, belts, let, lets, brass, bass, cake, bee, bleats;
Preparing the meals of love to share with others!
For, it is better to give than to receive.
Black-streets, cakes, lake, lakes, leak, leaks, cab, cabs, crab, be, bare, bear, bears;
Walking along the streets to understand the ways of life!
Because, this world was made with love and, we have to live in love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It's the texture of New York that people miss by filming elsewhere. There are layers and layers of character - even in the pavement - that you can't get anywhere else. And the speed that the people move. It's so different from other places.
quote by Richard Benjamin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Nocturne
'Where there is no peace, there is no light.' Thomas Merton. Honorable Reader: Reflections on My Work
I dwell in city nights
hear cars cruising
down streets
streaming confusion
whispering,
boulevards of light
stunted lanes,
high-
wire siren, stunned
shot-
finders, tense
dispatchers rolling
black and whites,
ambulance
coroner's wagon
while laughing,
from theatre emerging,
from restaurant and bar
unaware, we swarm
through rivers of blood
to black cars, crush
of silent plush
power windows up
lock the doors
and slowly drive
through those
shimmering
terrible,
beautiful
streets.
poem by Steven Federle
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Know my Pain
what is p.a.i.n,
pain is power asserting itself now,
usually expressed in the traumatizing rain,
letting your soul and your mind allow,
to bring about visions of despair,
that is towering over your heart,
what is a h.e.a.r.t,
a heart is howling expressions of a righteous tear,
yes, a heart is something that is always injured,
protected with a soul and mind,
that is always blocking a light,
leaving the heart confused and blind,
wandering and falling but still trying with all its might,
what is a s.o.u.l
a soul is a small outburst under layers,
indeed, a soul is something that needs pain,
yet, it doesn't have a heart,
it needs layers,
these layers are us humans,
humans complete the idea that,
(S.O.U.L) are (H.E.A.R.T) but is held down by (P.A.I.N)
fear my pain,
feel my pain,
hate my pain,
this is my pain,
KNOW MY PAIN
poem by Justice Bernard Brown
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The children in black
The children in black
Where did their childhoods go
Trailing water behind
How did they become this cynical
They write words of hate
Tears of joy is no longer a term for them
How can they be so small
But hate so much
The children in black
The children in black
What happened to happiness
Are they that controlled
That everything can effect them
Don't they have the right to laugh
Why are their eyes this guarded
Does everything have to be that formal
What happened to innocence
Did it go away with the faith
The children in black
The children in black
I can see the bitterness
Can't you see the ugly truth
Bitter minds already got their minds trained
So why are children so dark
Is there that much pain
The children in black
The children in black
What happened to be open minded
Did it close like a door
Only opening for a few
Is this society that negative
That they can't see the light
What happened to love
Loving parents and friends
It must have went away
The children in black
The children in black
Their hate scares me
Their eyes make me grimace
With thier hate they can stop the world
But how is that possible when they are so young
Are their minds that easy to twist
The children in black
The children in black
I hope they will soon see the light
I don't know if it's normal to be afraid
But that's what I feel
Why do most people find it easier to be sad
Do they realize it's not
The children aren't children anymore
They're miny adults trying to impress
Why don't people realize this
Are they that oblivious
Maybe if people opened their eyes we could do something
But until then...
The children in black
poem by Lillie Ellis
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Either/or
either you go
and run free like
a child bathing
naked under the rain
or you wear all your
underwears
and coats and masks
and you hide inside
your room and lock
all your windows
and doors
and disconnect
the electric current
from your doorbell
these are layers and
layers of choices
but whatever that is
that you pick from the rest
that is still poetry to me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Defiant Pattern
you feel betrayed
sometimes
stones like us
some
have turned into birds
behold the clouds
they were once
like us
too
the dropp of rain
comes to you in a dream as
an ocean
black turns gold before
your eyes
the jinx has become
famous Lady Luck
you ask so many questions
they get mad
you get punished for
such a
philosophical misbehavior
defiant pattern
bad to see and must not be
published
you feel betrayed
by a storm of biases
there is no place for you
and so
you do not turn into a bird
or cloud
or ocean
you remain as stone
deep under
you live in silence
apart from the world of birds
and skies
and oceans
you are stone
perfect in your silence
undiscovered gem
how will you ever
discover that stone in you
glittering in silence
depths of black
strata of wisdom
no one knows
they have taken nothing
from you
you have buried your mouth
and eyes
and ears in that blackness of
your chosen silence
defiant pattern
beautiful secret underneath
the
earth of layers of
silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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