Prospero
Houses of green water have risen before him,
of sickening height, dirty with anger, full of foam.
But he will not yet denounce his magic
but listen to what the thunder speaks
and write with iced and frozen fingers about
the flotsam of drowned wisdom.
His pain is older than yews and as
black as ancient olives, but he has
the last story to tell.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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In The Garden Of Olives
the garden of olives is silent.
it has been silent for years.
no one wants to tell its story.
about a garden of olives and
how blood reaches there
there it is, unreached by humanity,
untouched by the fingers of civilization
certified virgin garden of olives.
three shadows on twilight.
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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S7
early morning eyes
fresh from their dreams
the mind recalls
the heart confirms
all the emotions still contained
vivid images in technicolor
the hands summon the fingers
write, write, write
strike while the iron is hot
cliche, cliche
now the thoughts rush like a flood
from the forest mountains
the fingers are adept at all these
one with the mind and heart
and so here we are again
slaves of our art
redeemed risen anew
maybe still cold and perhaps even frozen
thaw
melt only to be solidified again when the sun comes
irony of the mind
paradoxes of the heart
listen
to you i am saying nothing
it is for me
in the labyrinths of my confusions i am trying to find my way out
trapped fly in a bottle
buzzing for its wish for freedom
genie
wanting someone to rub its ancient lamp
if you let me free
you may have four wishes
and that is not just a promise
it is a contract
morning thoughts
tunnels without end lights yet
there is yet no exit
and so you still find me here in my own shadow
fog and mist
trails filled with tall grasses
up there is the house of my intentions
a figure waits but i do not know yet who
surprises surprises
anticipations of life
these are all the reasons
hazy as a refraction of light bending upon a glassy vision
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Child For A Day
I was a child
Who ran full of laughter
I was a child who lived for today
My eyes full of sunshine
My heart full of smiles
I was a child for a day
We were the children
Who sang in the morning
We were the children
Who laughed at the sun
Who listened to those who spoke with their wisdom
We are the ones we would say, but
Were getting older as time goes by
A little older with everyday
We were the children of yesterday
We are the men who worry of nothing
We are the men who fight without aim
We listen to no one, yet speak of our wisdom
We are the pawns in the game
Were getting older as time goes by
A little older with everyday
We were the children of yesterday
I was a child
Who ran full of laughter
I was a child who lived for today
My eyes full of sunshine
My heart full of smiles
I was a child for a day
Were getting older as time goes by
A little older with everyday
We were the children of yesterday
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Notes to My Beloved Country
has dried
my tears
has faded
my impression
my smile
has lost
my compliments
my pride
oh my beloved country
all look like garbage
i consider it absolutely rubbish
dirty and unworthy
anger, anger.. it's my anger
to my beloved country
all looks so do
sickening!
Copyright © 2012
Olive At Midnight
An olive at midnight
Green
shiny
globe
of
black
The size of a dirty workman's thumb
They (the olives) tumble towards me
Down hills and in still slick lakes of olive oil
I meet my dark shining olive
By suprise
It's midnight in the olive grove
My ciabatta catches him
spinning on the tastebuds together
My olive and I
Two star crossed lovers
One black
On green
Obscene nights of perpetual fulfillment
What a scene! my olive and me
My olive my heart
Oh my darling lovely one
Olive at midnight
At last
you have come to me
And together we will may a delightful
pair
my lips quake at the thought of you
quivering as you slither in a plate of oil
towards them
Olive at midnight
You have possessed me
I am yours
But too many press in
Only one is chosen
It is dark I cannot see you
Oh olive
Are you green?
Or black?
Does it matter I am not prejudice
My dear dear one
At midnight you thunder towards me
My heart is an earthquake
My brain a melting pot offondant cheese
I slice my ciabatta
A tiny onion a tomato pressed between
And you oh olive my love
I am done
Please leave
I am not hungry
It is past midnight
I must sleep
poem by Yvette Smith
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Empty Old Houses
Empty Old Houses
Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it
Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it
Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them
Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them
Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them
Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life
Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them
poem by David Whalen
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Sink Or Swim
The sea of storms came in
To batter our barley coast,
I was determined to sink or swim,
You to be drowned, and lost.
The lightning struck at our moorings,
The thunder silenced our needs,
The wind howled out our candles
And darkness caught at our creed.
But he was tossed in the fury,
Our love, our darling boy,
He clung to the drifting flotsam,
He clung to the well-loved toy.
One minute in every moment
Is lost to the best of men,
One moment of rage and anger
Cost me my lovely son.
The years went by in a whisper
A whisper of wind, and gone,
One moment, stark with lightning
Remains, while the stars shine on.
We touched for a parting moment,
We caught, touched fingers then leapt
Each to our storm forever;
- I reached for my son, and wept.
23 December 1987
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Pain-Filled Anger
Oh! What is this?
Pain inside my heart,
Maybe it's anger...
A vibrant twist of both...
Red anger pouring out,
Raindrops pouring down
From my bloodshot eyes.
Oh! What is this?
Emptiness,
Running short of emotion...
No more pain,
No more anger,
Coming up empty...
It's like everything's leaked out
Red numbness pouring out
In order to feel something
And raindrops
Don't feel my eyes anymore...
I feel nothing,
Emotions run dry,
I want to feel something,
Anything at all...
But coming up empty
Is all I seem to have.
It's just not fair...
It's all coming back,
An ache in my heart,
Anger filling my body.
I'd rather have this
Than feel numb,
But red anger pours out
Once again
As raindrops feel my eyes
Once again.
Raindrops fall down to my dirty,
Beat up shoe.
Pain and anger,
So much,
Red stains now feel my mattress.
So, I'll listen to the beat
Of my favorite band
Because it seems
To be the only thing
That will keep my mind occupied
From all this anger and pain
And I'll fall asleep,
Headphones in my ear,
So my anger won't
Win me over,
At least for tonight.
poem by Hannah Diane Williams
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Dirty Martini
Two in the morning there's a drink in my hand
(Dirt, dirt, dirty Martini)
Nothing moving the place but sweat
I heard a rumour 'bout a Cajun band
(Dirt, dirt, dirty Martini)
The bartender says it's early yet
Wait the bartender says it's early yet
Too many olives in too much gin
Steppin' out in the City of Sin
Too much dirty rice and too many beans
Gettin' down and dirty down in New Orleans
Gettin' down and dirty down in New Orleans
Have another, i believe i will
(Dirt, dirt, dirty Martini)
And you can stir it with a dirty spoon
There's a perscription i've gotta fill
(Dirt, dirt, dirty Martini)
And the Doctor's gonna be here soon
Jimmy says the Doctor's gonna be here soon
Too many olives in too much gin
Steppin' out in the City of Sin
Too much dirty rice and too many beans
Gettin' down and dirty down in New Orleans
Gettin' down and dirty down in New Orleans
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good to write poems
I want everyone in theworld
To write poems
Poems is the best to happy writing
Anger sad and pain
Which you write it in poems
Heal faster and better
Than any medicine in theworld
Because I know I write
In anger sad pain and much joy
Romance exotic and love
Society reality and life
Religion GOD and fantasia
I write what I feel and heard
Peaceful within, no more hurt or sad
Anger all to happiness and
Forgiveness you find
Solution you get
The joy the fulfillment
The happy feeling and heal
I can’t felt it until each poem I write
poem by See Fee Lee
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To Them I'm Crazy
I’m a crazy woman. To them I’m crazy. Obsessed with my anger. They think it chokes me in my sleep, it oozes as I walk, leaving a trail of disgust in my path. But this anger is who I am. What I must be. It cannot be left in a corner, forgotten, like letters of the past covered in dust. This is my story and I will not forget. The hurt and the pain. The struggle and shame. Because if I forget no one will remember. No one will know or be there to tell this story. Anger. It isn’t a story of anger. But it’s a story of transformation. Of holding my anger, like a cherished organ, understanding that without this anger, I would not be this soon-to-no-longer-be lost girl. With anger oozing in her path. With change in her horizon. I would be the masses that for too long have been too helpless to leave. They lost they’re anger. Lowered their heads when they were told they shouldn’t want more. They should be happy with what they have. But I will not forget. I will always know. And that is what drives me.
poem by Lupita Hernan
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Water In The Sky
Listen as she speaks to you
Hear the voices flutter through
The barriers arranged by you
Close the shudders draw the shades
Filter out the everglades
Glistening with evening dew
Thunder calls through waterfalls
Rising tides and ocean walls
I can hear you when you sigh
Listen as she speaks to you
Hear the voices flutter through
Watch them fall and let them lie
I can hear you when you sigh
Through the water in the sky
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anger buried deep inside me
My anger is angry.
Its pain.
Its frustration.
Its irritation.
My anger is angry.
My anger is confusion.
My anger is past, present and future.
My anger's disappointment.
My anger builds
up and explodes
like thunder on
a stormy day.
Its fiery red.
Its envy.
Its greed.
Its temptation.
My anger's TOO angry.
Won't you please help me stop?
I'm a blazing volcano
that's ready to pop.
poem by Ricky Baker
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My Anger is Angry
My anger is angry.
Its pain.
Its frustration.
Its irritation.
My anger is angry.
My anger is confusion.
My anger is past, present and future.
My anger's disappointment.
My anger builds
up and explodes
like thunder on
a stormy day.
Its fiery red.
Its envy.
Its greed.
Its temptation.
My anger's TOO angry.
Won't you please help me stop?
I'm a blazing volcano
that's ready to pop.
age 13 going on 14
poem by LuRyza Penn
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5
Falling apart
I'm sickening
I'm sickening
Losing my heart
I'm sickening
I'm sickening
Retract
Trying to forget
Trying to protect
5
Crawling this far
I'm sickening
I'm sickening
Soiled and scarred
I'm sickening
I'm sickening
Retract
Lying to subject
Dying to collect
5
I'm coming apart
Finally
Maybe this time I'll forget about you
I've tried
But you keep coming back
Retract
5
I'm coming apart
song performed by by Ultraspank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spy Of Love
Have you noticed to this day
How many times weve prayed and played
Lifting lovers up and down
It gets around in this old town
Sleight of hand and sleight of mouth
A dirty trick to catch me out
I dont mind but what I say
Use that magic for better days
Standing above this moment
Listening to all I say
The spy of love will track me
Will catch me
Through the window I see a face
That dirty face that speaks with sorrow
You listen to the walls for clues
Stand in shadows protecting you
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Krisnamurti
krisnamurti by his own wisdom
of non-knowing
just like the old and dead
Socrates
does not write a book,
wisdom is merely spoken
relayed from mind to mind
mouth to mouth
moment to moment
the past has no hold
it does not exist
the future has no fingers
it is yet to come
it is the now that speaks
that holds that shows its face
take it with gladness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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See The Sea
Please Listen, Sea
The sea won't quit rolling.
With foam splashing, not intending to harm,
But getting in my eyes and making them violently water.
So I yell, "Quit it! Quit moving! "
The green sea won't answer me.
I wade till I'm a meter deep.
And I can see, as well as feel,
The water's weeds consuming my pale toes.
I feel helpless, but capable of moving: semi-moored in mud.
I take a solitary step in the direction of land,
While sea foam, sea weed, and waves
All crash and lackadaisically smash around.
They won't quit.
I leave the water, and the sea never listened.
poem by William Ster
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Magic
Theres a light in the sky that hangs on the edge of illusion
Something very fine but its something you know is there
Mystery of time hidden by a man of confusion
But the hand is quicker than the eye
Only the stranger knows why
cos its magic
You know its magic that youll find
You see its magic
I know who you are and theres magic in you
Keep your eye on the man
And dont look away for a moment
How is it done how does he make me see
Something up his sleeve when speaks you want to believe him
But the hand is quicker than the eye
Only the stranger knows why
cos its magic
Can you see its magic that youll find
You know its magic
I know who you are and theres magic in you
Driven by a force
Moving in another dimension
Here for today, gone for eternity
Seeking for truth hidden by the word of his wisdom
But the hand is quicker than the eye
Only the stranger knows why
Cant you feel its magic
You know its magic that youll find
I said its magic
I know who you are and theres magic in you
song performed by by Rainbow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through the Paintbrush
She can scream through a paintbrush.
It's safer that way.
The frozen blue of cold rejection,
Green poison of jealousy,
Red - oh, God, - RED
The pain,
broken,
raw.
No, I cannot let this out.
RED is a colour of such anger
Such pain -
those memories -
Fight them, close them back in the box.
Push the lid down,
don't let the red seep through.
It destroys, it burns, it scars.
No, never let the red through.
Don't feel the pain.
If the red escapes the screams will never be still.
poem by Diana Thomas
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