Cliché But True
The eyes those are the windows
The lips those are the doors
Just a bit of a hat for a roof
The arms and hands those are the yards
The legs and feet those are the paths
The human is the House – he dwells
And a Road back home – he travels
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Grass Is Greener
One thing that I have heard
As I have often been told
Was the grass is always greener
On the other side of the road,
And to the that one statement
I truly had no ideal,
Was it but a lie that I often heard
Or was that assumption for real.
So on top of my own roof
I went to, after my climb
To check another ones yard
Of course a yard, that wasn't mine.
And there is where I stood
As I surveyed across the road
To see if anyone's grass was greener
As I often had heard and also been told.
And there from where that I stood
And from what that I could see
Their grass was not any greener
Than my yard, that I do believe.
So I surveyed the yards of my neighbors
As up on my roof I stood as I thought
Maybe all yards are all different then
So I got off my roof, and I went for a walk.
I walked down the street
Then I walked up the next block
Seems as though the houses got bigger
Along with their possession's and their lots.
Their grass didn't seem any greener
Than mine or the other that I have seen
Though theirs yards were much larger
As though a good picture from everyone's dream.
So there I left, and I continued my walk
I then came across some railroad tracks
And there stood houses and from what I saw,
Their grass was as green, front yard and back.
Though their yards they wasn't as large
As the ones I have seen
And their houses weren't as large or as nice
But their yards, they were just as green.
So then I headed back unto my home
To reflect back on the things that I have seen,
And of the ideals people thought of and said
And what in their mind they really did mean.
So when I got back unto my home
I climbed again on top of my roof
So there I could reflect and think to myself
About my neighbors and me and to tell the truth.
Though the grass might be greener, I did say
On the other side of the road,
But this one thing I tell you my friend,
The grass, it still has to be mowed.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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From The Terrace
White house
brown roof
windows with outsretched arms
speak to my eyes
urging acceptance
Walls lift roof to gray sky
breeze flowing through the columns
floor, not for walking
but for ascending
request my steps
to be uplifted
Arches curve upwards
and downwards
dancing like the waves
invite me to join
all is in place
all agog with excitement
My soul flutters
knees buckle
and answer no
to House built with greed
not sweat of labour
Here I stay
on the terrace
watching house
not Home
blocks and roof
not sweat and contentment
poem by Mark Nwagwu
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In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Survivor....
the inner struggles
have been
not just few
the thinking
is like going to war
and massive
killings along the
way
the mind is a survivor
the body stands still
people see you
like a pillar
the house is strong
the beams not trembling
and the garden
is simply beautiful
clouds hang on the
roof
air goes in and out
this constant
visitor
the doors are open
here
the windows are
enigmatic
worries are like
urine
flooding the
legs but the mind
is quick
like a diaper
somehow the self is
as elastic
as the rubberized
path like the
one at the gym
one goes back to
the couch
recalls, relates,
a boat waits
to ferry you back
to your throat
and heart
there you spell
the words
perfectly and there
the blood corpuscles
have hands
and you hear them
clapping
well done
wait for the next
journey
outside the
veins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let Them Be
let the shoes come and accommodate your feet
and the gloves your hands
and your shirt and pants let them all come near you
and wear your body
let all of them come
let them be let them be
let them have you
the shoes will take you to the door of the house
the home you are longing
the stairs meet you
and the windows open like eyes looking out to another face
the floors and ceiling give you a space
where you can sit with the chair
that opens its arms
a glass serves you milk
or orange juice, tell it what you want
to quench your thirst
a saucer, a plate, a spoon and fork
they all come before your hands
some muffins and jelly
they all come before your mouth
they all come to feed your hunger
this is your home now.
Destiny is waiting.
You do not do a thing.
They all do it for you.
There is no worry.
Destiny does it for you.You see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The House Beside The Road
The house beside the road,
Where people lived
And children played,
Is empty now
And falling down.
The echos of happy feet
Are heard now,
Tapping to the sound
Of Poppy's fiddle,
But the house beside the road
Is empty.
When a gentle voice
Is heard in the house,
It's only a singing breeze
Sifting itself through
The cracks in the roof of
The house beside the road.
poem by Scarlett Treat
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I Will Take You Home
Little girl lost
In a forest of dreams.
Its a dark old wood
And its damp with dew.
Hoot owl hoots
For a moment it seems
Something big and cold
Got ahold of you.
Just when everything gets scary,
Daddys come round for his darlin again.
Hold my hand with your little fingers.
Daddys loving arms gonna gather you in.
Aint no way the bogeyman can get you,
You can close your eyes, the world is gonna let you,
Your daddys here and never will forget you,
I will take you home.
I will take you home.
Gonna carry you back home
In my arms.
I will take you home.
Long is the road
We must travel on down.
Short are the legs
That will struggle behind.
I wish I knew for sure
Just where were bound,
What we will be doin
And what were gonna find.
Wherever we go, there will be birds to cheer you
Flowers to color in the fields around.
Wherever we go, Ill be right here near you
You cant get lost when youre always found.
Aint no fog thats thick enough to hide you
Your daddys gonna be right here beside you
If your fears should start to get inside you.
I will take you home.
I will take you home.
Gonna carry you back home
In my arms.
I will take you home.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Openness In Prayer
the walls of the
house are thick
and high
the windows are
closed
and so are the
doors
the roof is taken
away
for you to see
the sky the stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Writ Of Amparo
when you leave this place
everything finds no use for me
the home crumbles into a house
doors lock themselves like silent lips
what can i do with a house or an empty chair?
it loses me and i drift like everyone else
moving from one place to another not finding
the seat of comfort
where is rest? it is not found in the map
there is no church
no cottage
all the people that i meet do not speak
'no english', no word, no syllable
their heads turn, their arms fold,
their feet dusting me out from a lull,
when you leave this place
it will be gone and when you come back
what you will find is the darkness of the sea
deep within its womb of deadly coldness
its unfathomable silence
its cruelty in the depths of sleeplessness...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Expectedly
houses are strong
and well insulated
in your
hinterland
but mine is on top
of the hill
kissed by the sun
it is open to the
air
they come and go
and come again
this is the house without
doors and stairs
a house deprived of
windows
and peeping holes
and cracks and
slits
this is the house of the
sun
the earth loves it
its body attached
to the grass
it has no pillars
but trees
no roof but clouds
no walls but spaces
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God' S Given Me Two
Two eyes to see when you are hurting
Two lips so I can talk with you when you are lonely
Two ears so I can sit and listen to you when no else
seems to care anymore
Two arms to wrap around you when you need comforting
Two hands so I can help you do things you no longer able to do
Two legs so I can come to you in your time of need
Two feet so I can follow you when you need someone by your side
But onlly ONE HEART for that's all I need to share HIS love with the world
poem by David Kush
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True Love Travels On A Gravel Road (Takes 6,7)
How many girls choose cotton dress worlds
When they could have satins and lace
And stand by her man, never once letting shade touch her face
How many hearts could live through all the winters
We've known and still not be cold
True love travels on a gravel road.
Love is a stranger and hearts are in danger
All through streets paved with gold
For true love travels on a gravel road.
Down through the years we've had hard times and tears
But they only helped our love grow
And we'll stay together no matter how strong the wind blows
Not once have I seen your blue eyes filled with envy
Or stray from the one that you hold
Oh true love travels on a gravel road.
Love is a stranger and hearts are in danger
All through streets paved with gold
For true love travels on a gravel road.
Yeah, true love travels on a gravel road. Mmmm
True love travels on a gravel road.
True love travels on a gravel road.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House On Centerville Road
We stopped beside the highway
And gazed at the old house
I told my wife, “That’s where I lived”
When I was just a little sprout
It looked smaller than it once did
Back so many years ago
Even then it was old and creaky
But, as a kid, I didn’t know
Weathered boards were loose and falling
Saplings grew up through the porch
The old tin roof was rusted orange
And the yard looked like a forest
Here dwells my oldest memories
From so many years ago
When our young family lived here
In the house on Centerville road
Those walls once rang with laughter
And the energy of two young lads
Riding stick horses all around the place
Trying to “herd” our collie, Pat
But, Pat knew more than we did
When she’d hear Mama shout
She’d turn us back from the road
And herd two boys toward the house
Dad got a job and we moved to town
Well before I started school
So, my memories are short and sketchy
But, I’ve found there are quite a few
My wife retrieved her camera
And as I turned the key to go
Snapped a picture from her window
Of the house on Centerville road
10/07/07
poem by C.R. Clark
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For You Love Me...
my forehead has dirt
there is shit on my cheek
my arms are dusty
and my hands are getting clumsy
my feet are muddy
and my lips are cracked
i am tipsy and drunk
and with someone else
on some cheap bed
yet when i come back
you make me still feel
that sense of home
you kiss my forehead
touch my cheeks with
your kind hands
and tell me
you miss me so much
and as i am tipsy and
drunk
you offer me hot green
tea
you open the door of
the house
and let me step again
inside the room
of love
full of affection
we embrace again
nothing about history
nothing about
what i must say
because you always
tell me
that whatever happens
you will always love me
now, who wants to be
away from you?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'll Be Back
Messages come, and make us suffer
A letter comes, and keeps on asking…
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you this house is empty
The one's I trust
A form of rose
Has written me this letter
And has asked me
Someone's breaths, Someone's heartbeat
Someone's desires, Someone's smile
Someone's dull mornings, sleepy evenings
Lonely nights, unsaid words
Longing arms
And have asked her
Longing eyes
That...
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you this house is empty
The ones with love
My best friends
Have wrote and asked me
My village, my people
Old trees, White clouds
Green grass, my soil
My celebrations, my religion
My farms, my land
My parents and
My wife has asked
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you this country is lonely and empty
Sometimes a motherly river's letter comes by
And brings along
My childhood days, my games in the backyard
My mother's support, being protected
My mother's lullaby, the softness of her hands
The desire in the eyes, the worries in her words
Hard on the outside, Lovely from the inside
Acts my mom
And asks me in each letter
When are you coming?
When are you coming?
Write me when you're coming home
Without you my lap is empty
Hey the passing wind tell me
Will u please do a little favor for me?
Go to my state and salute to my friends
In that state there's a road
Where my wife and kids live
Just tell them that I love them
Just tell them that I love them
Further down that road
Is my old mother
Just touch her feet and
Say my name in her ear
Hey the passing wind
Just to my friends
My wife and kids,
And my old mother
Send them this message
And tell them that…
I will come home
I will come home
The promise I made to…
My soil
To its colorful nature
To my mother lap
To my blossomed flowers
And to someone's heart…
I will fulfill it
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
I will come back one day
This war will be over one day
poem by Kiara Davar
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The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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She Is No Longer Innocent About The Ways Of The World
you think she is as fragile as a thin glass of cherry wine
that when you touch the tip with your finger
she blushes and the glass gets warmer with your thumb
its bottom at the mercy of your palm
you like to think that she is a flower blooming on the month of May
where the dews are as careful as the sap of the red melon
nothing that stains the skin and dirties the white linen
then you discover a lot of things
first, the way she uses the pillow putting it just bellow her buttocks
then the way she calls your name like the hush of the break of day's breeze
from the distant sea
mournful and yet so awakening to your senses
the way she puts her legs and spreads her arms to hold your body
she is like the full moon peeping over the window that you open
you let her in and she sleeps like a fantasy dream on your bed
every sense of you wakes up like there is a fire in the house
adrenalin rushes inside your thighs
you are undressed and in the naked truth you come to her
something unspeakable
unfathomed
giving you the freedom to plunge in the paradise
long denied by them for you
you found the map to her labyrinth of pleasure
and once there
you do not want to leave
this is your home
your niche where your hands thrive like the needles of grass
where you mind glows like the stars
alive and singing
this is pleasure immeasurable
her lips her breasts her arms her abdomen her eyes
her hands gripping your hands
her feet entwined like the vine to the pillar of your house
her soft voice her moans
the cock is crowing and by all means say hello to a very
nice morning
a new day to the first day of your life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Georgia On My Mind
(Carmichael & Gorrell)
Georgia, Georgia,
The whole day through
Just an old sweet song
Keeps Georgia on my mind
Oh, on my mind, on my mind
Well, well, well, well, well I say hey now, hey now, hey now, hey now
Georgia,
Just the thought of you
Comes as sweet and clear
As the moonlight through the pines
Other arms reach out to me
Other eyes smile tenderly
For that peaceful dreams I see
The road, the road, the road, the road, the road, the road, the road, the road, the road, the road, the road,
Leads back to you
Ohh, say that Georgia
No peace, no peace, no peace I find
Just an old sweet song
Keeps you, keeps you, keeps you
Gentle on my mind
(Instrumental break)
Your arms your arms your arms your arms your arms your arms your arms your arms reach out to me
Your eyes your eyes your eyes your eyes your eyes your eyes your eyes smile tenderly
For that peaceful, for that peaceful dreams I see
Oh the hardened ground and road
Lead back to you
Georgia
No, no, no peace I find
Just an old sweet song
Just an old sweet, just an old sweet, just an old sweet song
Keeps you, keeps you, on my mind, on my mind, on my mind
Just an old sweet song
Keeps Georgia on my mind
On my mind, on my mind.
(transcribed by ear, so corrections welcomed)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Love Travels On A Gravel Road
(words & music by frazier - owens)
How many girls choose cotton dress worlds
When they could have satins and lace
And stand by her man, never once letting shade touch her face
How many hearts could live through all the winters
Weve known and still not be cold
True love travels on a gravel road.
Love is a stranger and hearts are in danger
All through streets paved with gold
For true love travels on a gravel road.
Down through the years weve had hard times and tears
But they only helped our love grow
And well stay together no matter how strong the wind blows
Not once have I seen your blue eyes filled with envy
Or stray from the one that you hold
Oh true love travels on a gravel road.
Love is a stranger and hearts are in danger
All through streets paved with gold
For true love travels on a gravel road.
Yeah, true love travels on a gravel road. mmmm
True love travels on a gravel road.
True love travels on a gravel road.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Southern Narrative
The tired old farm buildings
Were slumping into the ground
Like exhausted children,
Fighting to stay upright,
But too old, too tired
To try much longer.
Possibly, the only thing
Holding them vertically
Was the amount of vines
Sprouting out the tops
Of the tilting roofs.
Doors gaped wide,
Hinges hanging away,
Most of their screws missing,
Holding bits and pieces
Of the stout planks
Which used to make doors.
A heavy metal winch
Swung from the upper
Door of the barn,
Creaking and whining
With age.
Where once it had been
The lifter of heavy loads,
It now hangs limply
On a frayed rope,
Empty and useless.
The stalls stand bare as well,
Rotting, sour hay on floors
Which used to be cleaned daily.
Rusted milk cans tilt
Against walls that can barely
Hold them upright.
A saddle still hangs
By the vacant doorway.
Where it had once shone proudly
With bright polish and clean brass,
And smelled of horse,
It now drops bits of dried-out leather,
Like a moulting bird,
Onto the unused floor.
Cans of paint, bits of brass,
Rusty wire, old hoes and rakes
Lay in a jumble on shelves
Falling off the walls.
The homeplace, the house,
Shows the same state of neglect,
Doors ajar, windows sagging,
Tiles tilting and sliding off the roof.
The porch dips and sags,
Dragging the ground
Like the old preacher's wife,
Wearing her finest clothes,
With her slip hanging down,
Tattered and dirty,
And very worn at the edges.
The house beside the road,
Where people lived
And children played,
Is empty now,
And falling down.
The echos of happy feet
Are heard,
Tapping to the sound
Of Poppy's fiddle,
But the house beside the road
Is empty, and forlorn.
When a gentle voice
Is heard in the house,
It is only a singing breeze,
Sifting itself through
The cracks in the roof
Of the house I used to call
Home.
Linda Scarlett Treat
January 6,2010
poem by Scarlett Treat
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