The Seagull
One day in the hot sun, under a mackerel sky
on a bench in a parking lot, waiting
for a bus to Kingston Station, wielding
fans, we found ourselves approached
by what? a lost-looking seagull-
bow tie-less, but in charcoal
tails and a light gray vest, nonetheless,
waddling formally our way.
'Now what, ' I wondered, pulling in my feet, and
sitting up abruptly, 'could it possibly want with us?
Spare change? ' So far from the sea
did we look like sardines? I watched as
its webs drily toed
the sun-softened tarmac; as it padded closer
on stalks half-lit like hollyhock stems
I saw in a painting once.
There was much to admire
in the feathery plush of its breast,
whitecap-white but whiter when the breeze blew it back;
I clucked at the way its level head swiveled
smoothly, side to side, like a rudder;
chuckled at the way its scimitar beak,
yellowed and notched, swerved
this way and that, like a tiller;
poem by Morgan Michaels
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The Bench
I saw her and felt very sad
There she was, thinly clad,
Sitting on a bench on a railway station,
Motionless, there was no animation,
No showing of any observation,
Her aura was one of devastation,
Although things were happening all around her,
Nothing seemed to make her move or even stir,
Actually no movement of any kind,
She was acting, totally blind,
No spark of recognition,
Or of making a decision,
Staring blankly into space,
As if lost without a trace.
I wondered what was making her this way,
All I could do for her, was to silently pray,
And watch the tears go sliding down her face,
Oblivious of the place, that was her location,
Which was, sitting on a bench on a railway station.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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302
everything has been concealed
for years
i have lived with the pigs
in the mud
and ate the left-over foods
of our masters
but then today
i feel the feathers growing on my side
i have strong wings
my claws are pushing in my feet
no longer hoofs
and hair
the wind from the sea
breaks the truth it brings
on my beak is the break
once upon a time a seagull lost an egg in the pigsty
unaccounted
i was that egg
i am a seagull now
to the full
of my potentials
goodbye brother pigs now i must fly away to the farther seas
to the higher skies
my destiny
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lost And Found
You know the question, find the answer
Stirring deep within your mind
Don't Have to Promise, You have a reason
For what it is you need to find
I was searching, until I found it
And I saw it in you
It seems so real, but I can feel me
Getting closer to you
If clocks could stop, time wouldn't waste
And I could tell you once more
That we are running, without eachother
There's not much to live for
I tried to find, the side you hide,
The side that pushes me away,
You're standing close so, I can tell you
That I wish you would stay
I wouldn't know myself
I'm lost without you here
If you could see my side
I will wait for you, no matter what you do
Cause you're a part of me now
We will see this through
Go on to something new
We were lost but now we're found
As days go by, you're fading faster
Looking for something new
It's hard to notice, you're looking past me
When I'm right within your view
I wouldn't know myself
I'm lost without you here
If you could see my side
I will wait for you, no matter what you do
Cause you're a part of me now
We will see this through
Go on to something new
We were lost but now we're found
It's been a bumpy road
I'll try to carry your load
I'll try to understand
Your fate is in your hands
If you could see my side
I wouldn't know myself
I'm lost without you here
If you could see my side
I will wait for you no matter what you do
Cause you're a part of me now
We will see this through
Go on to something new
We were lost but now we're found
We were lost and now we're found
song performed by by 1208
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Elevator
I was on the ground floor
and I wanted level five.
I pressed the call button
and waited for it to arrive.
It arrived with no one in it,
so I entered and closed the door.
It took its time to get going,
then slowed for the next floor.
The doors hesitated then opened,
but no one was there,
but I definitely felt a presence
and a disturbance in the air.
I was standing still and anxious
when the lift shook from side to side.
The doors closed and up it went to three
where the doors opened wide.
Again no one was there waiting,
but I felt someone get in.
Movement in the air and floor
was most unsettling.
I was overwhelmed and nervous
as it approached level four.
It stopped, but no one was waiting,
just like the stops before.
The elevator paused for a second
and I swear someone got in.
I was certain that I heard whispering
as the elevator set off again.
The space felt uncomfortably eerie
cold, but very much alive.
The rotten egg smell made me sickly,
as we went passed level five.
The light suddenly turned to darkness,
and I could see forms and shapes.
They were pushing each other violently,
as we approached level eight.
I pressed the emergency button,
but we still passed eight, nine, and ten.
At level eleven the elevator stopped…
then began to go down again.
At eight the elevator came to a halt
and everyone but me got out.
The darkness became light again,
so relieved, I gave out a shout.
The elevator continued downwards
and stopped at the ground floor.
An old lady and her dog waiting to enter,
but I couldn’t exit the elevator door.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 4)
Entering the flat
the Constable found no one there.
He searched every room,
nothing, only the fired gun on a note
left on the table.
He had noticed the back window
was left slightly ajar.
He picked up the note
and quickly read it through,
then put it in his pocket
along with the gun.
He smiled to the neighbour
as he left the flat.
He told her to lock it;
Mr D would be coming back.
At the car he got in
saying that,
they had to go back
to the station.
He sat on a bench
near the waters edge.
The white walking stick
resting between his legs.
He could not look at his watch,
as that would give the game away.
A blind man is not supposed to see,
so he had no idea of the time.
All he could tell
that day was turning into night.
He stood up;
he had to stretch his legs.
He moved along to
the bench by the bridge.
The dark waters of the lake,
lapped against the shore.
Then he heard the footsteps
walking across the wooden bridge.
He knew by the sound
they were of a woman’s shoe.
He did not look up
to see who it was,
just listened, as they got closer,
until they were in front of him.
He could now see her face,
under the light of the moon.
Her hair was dark,
and danced on her shoulders.
He wanted to say something,
but though he better not.
The killer could be lurking,
in the bushes somewhere,
waiting for his chance,
when he thought
the coast was clear.
She stopped and stood,
near the waters edge;
she watched the moon’s silver finger
dance on the breeze-ruffled waves.
He sat unnoticed except
for his white walking stick.
The blind could see nothing
at least that is what he hoped
anyone passing would think.
Then from the darkness, he emerged.
A mask of death he wore.
He moved quietly up behind the woman,
extended his hands out to her neck.
To be concluded……
poem by David Harris
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To a Friend Concerning Several Ladies
You know there is not much
that I desire, a few chrysanthemums
half lying on the grass, yellow
and brown and white, the
talk of a few people, the trees,
an expanse of dried leaves perhaps
with ditches among them.
But there comes
between me and these things
a letter
or even a look--well placed,
you understand,
so that I am confused, twisted
four ways and--left flat,
unable to lift the food to
my own mouth:
Here is what they say: Come!
and come! and come! And if
I do not go I remain stale to
myself and if I go--
I have watched
the city from a distance at night
and wondered why I wrote no poem.
Come! yes,
the city is ablaze for you
and you stand and look at it.
And they are right. There is
no good in the world except out of
a woman and certain women alone
for certain. But what if
I arrive like a turtle,
with my house on my back or
a fish ogling from under water?
It will not do. I must be
steaming with love, colored
like a flamingo. For what?
To have legs and a silly head
and to smell, pah! like a flamingo
that soils its own feathers behind.
Must I go home filled
with a bad poem?
And they say:
Who can answer these things
till he has tried? Your eyes
are half closed, you are a child,
oh, a sweet one, ready to play
but I will make a man of you and
with love on his shoulder--!
And in the marshes
the crickets run
on the sunny dike's top and
make burrows there, the water
reflects the reeds and the reeds
move on their stalks and rattle drily.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Hidden
he was sitting on one benches of the public park
where anything goes really,
after a stroll, he sits again, putting his feet on a trunk
his arms on the upper side of the bench
the air fans him and he looks at the trees lush with leaves
it rained last night and the scent of freshness is here again
he simply sits there alone...
there is no need of anything
or anyone, in this kind of a very simple bliss.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crouchin’ On The Outside
One two three four five six seven eight hey baby you're a little too late
I'm standin' on the outside lookin' in at you on the inside
Lookin' out at me on the outside lookin' in
Through the window of my madness at a place I never been
And you say you understand just what my trouble's all about
But you're sitting on the inside playing on the win side
While I'm freezing on the outside in the what's-it-all-about side
Lookin' in at you on the inside looking out
One two three four five six seven eight hey Jim let's talk about hate
I'm walkin' on the white side lookin' 'round at you on the brown side
Lookin' back at him on the black side lookin' down
And we're mouthin' words of freedom but we don't make any sound
And we clasp our hands in brotherhood and then go wash our hands
While you're stayin' on the brown side on the go-ahead-and-put-me-down side
While I'm standin' on the white side on the got-me-way-up-tight side
Lookin' back at him on the black side lookin' back
One two three four five six seven eight hey Claude don't bother to wait
You're cruisin' on the gay side lookin' straight at me on the straight side
Lookin' way at you on the gay side lookin' straight
And you're screamin' from the rooftops bout the pleasures that won't wait
And your closet's full of queenly gowns for extra special dates
And you're campin' on the gay side on the c'mon-out-and-play side
While I'm over on the trick side on the got-to-find-a-chick side
Lookin' way at you on the gay side lookin' straight
One two four seven nine eight twelve fifteen nineteen eighteen ninety-nine twenty-four else
[ sax ]
One two three four five six seven eight hey Miss hallucinate
You're boppin' on the hip side laughin' at me on the flip side
Chasin' after you on the hip side losin' my grip
And you're walkin' on a tightrope and you're tryin' not to slip
And you say you found out where it's at and give it all a try
So you're groovin' on the hip side in the come-and-take-a-trip side
I'm movin' on the square side in the show-me-when-and-where side
Chasin' after you on the hip side lookin' high
Lookin' at you on the hip side lookin' out yeah
Lookin' at you on the flip side lookin' back
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Ignored. (a Seagull Story)
Ignored. (A seagull story)
At the seaside restaurant it was busy everyone was eating lobsters,
I tried to catch the waiters’ eye. I was ignored and got the feeling
that I was Invisible, or that I was so small that my head didn’t reached
over the table. A seagull landed on my table a beautiful bird,
yellow beak and feet, plumage snowy white its wings light grey/blue
and its eyes were green; it also had the aroma of the Atlantic Ocean.
Waiter came, looked at the bird asked what it wanted, lobster, I said
when the dish came I gave it to the bird. Got up, left and no one tried
to stop me.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Tin Of Sardines
A tin of Sardines.
Mother by an assembly line putting tiny sardines into tins,
a machine did the rest, a squirt of oil and a lid stamped on.
Sardines side by side, in total darkness, wait to be eaten.
But first of all the sardines had to be smoked, the smoker
my mother’s lover, he visited her every Sunday afternoon,
and I was sent out to find a place that sold ice cream, even
when it rained. Rusting sardine cans, littering the wayside,
don’t walk barefoot in the grass at summer time. Mother
by an assembly line, putting sardines into tins, the smoker
had another girlfriend now and I got no Sunday ice cream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Seagull Flying On A Dimming Horizon
just that, what do you have to say more about it
just that
a white seagull flying towards a dimming horizon
a ship sailing away
the sun receding towards the other side
deep down the sea and then gone
just that, do not ever say that the seagull is heading home or running away
that is not so, there is no basis for such a personal conclusion
or just another imagination of your own loneliness by
association of that
white seagull flying towards a certain darkness
the ship turning to a dot dissolving on a horizontal line in front of you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Half A Man
Written by dan peek, 1975
Found on hearts.
Im only half a man
When Im not by your side
I try to make a plan
And I dont try to hide
So come on over closer to me
And everything will be just like it should be
Why dont you help me
Please dont stand on your pride
I feel so empty
Why dont you let me inside
So come on over closer to me
And everything will be just like it should be
You (you, you, you)
Set my soul on fire
You (you, you, you)
Fill me with desire
When ever Im near you
Im only half a man
When Im not by your side
I try to make a plan
And I dont try to hide
So come on over closer to me
And everything will be just like it should be
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When You Are Sleeping
i look carefully at the restive pose,
hands on the side, the head inclined towards the window
the breathing breast is as calm as the sunset sea
the eyelashes like a silk skirt on the side of the eye
nothing covers you except the soft breeze
your hair spreads like the gentleness of the night
your naked feet rests on the white pillow
your lips curl like a bow to its arrows
love hits me again and i am vulnerable
to its caresses, as i stand and hold the frame of this window
out there is the wide wild world of my dreams
where i do not belong anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cinnamon and Domino!
Can you believe those two, the whole day
Sitting by the screen door window
Staring at the sunlit green
Waiting for a gopher
To come darting through the yard?
One white, one bright like caramel
Solemn side by side
Their tails almost touching,
Heads in a steady line.
DVD players, I-PODs whine
Televisions whispering
In corners of the room behind
Smoky jazz and barbeque
And still they do not turn their heads
As if in shy Memorial
For brave felines passed on
Slowly the day goes by.
(Memorial Day 2008, Sharon, Ma, USA)
poem by Frank Bana
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Garden Wedding
Bees were working the lavender
as a seagull flew in blue sky
red rose's perfume did wendan
the air scented breeze wafted by
Young couples prim in their proper
the elders stood off to the side
Photographer posed as poser
the beauty in beholders eye
Bees were working the lavender
as a seagull sang in new sky
the bride shoes rose color purpleness
her groom stumping rose white, near nye
Bees kept working the lavender
A seagull flew swiftly far sky
yellow rose dress bride surrendered
To her white knight with kiss, near fly
The Solitude of Shade
Where the light is soft, I live in shade
in the corners of my mind where thought is made.
Where the temperature is cool, and my soul repose
my peace in the world one may suppose.
Under the shade my defects hide
and my imagination is my friend at my side.
Where love is truth
and intuition the sooth
of all that's to come
of all to be done.
The shade is my ambiance which determines my mood
where pensive thoughts lay and my loves gravely brood.
Lost in a world where people are gray
I hide from the world and it's shiny bright day.
In the shade is the place to be
where one can hide and freely see
the world around
where false is found
and the poor fool
is always crowned.
But to retire from the shade
and back into the light.
My thoughts whiter and fade
as I am back in sight…
The solitude of shade
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Now I Decide To Fly Away From The Home Of The Pigs
everything has been concealed
for years
i have lived with the pigs
in the mud
and ate the left-over foods
of our masters
but then today
i feel the feathers growing on my side
i have strong wings
my claws are pushing in my feet
no longer hoofs
and hair
the wind from the sea
breaks the truth it brings
on my beak is the break
once upon a time a seagull lost an egg in the pigsty
unaccounted
i was that egg
i am a seagul now
to the full
of my potentials
goodbye brother pigs now i must fly away to the farther seas
to the higher skies
my destiny
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Side By Side
Maurice white, wayne vaughn & wanda vaughn
One year ago, love was touch and go
Time made me see, solved the mystery
Taught me that love and time
Will change your mind and make it right
Bring your darkness to the light
My hearts sings in the night
My love I bring to you
With this lovin I dedicate to you
For believing in me, I will make you mine
Side by side, for love we waited
Side by side, were dedicated
Side by side, now we can make it
Side by side, we gonna shake it on down
Get down, get down , get down, get down,
Tonight
I can hardly wait, to pick you up at eight
For this rendezvous, candlelight and you
It took ma a long time, to see it clear
That love will last, for many years
Dreams can come true
So I bring my heart to you
With this lovin I dedicate to you
For believing in me, I will make you mine
Side by side, for love we waited
Side by side, were dedicated
Side by side, now we can make it
Side by side, we gonna shake it on down
Get down, get down , get down, get down,
Tonight
We finally found our sunny day
And your love lights up the way
So, I thank you today, for
You believed in me
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Primroses
They moved with grace
on a warm spring day;
the rhythm of nature
in a flowing ballet.
Side by side they moved
in a performance of mime,
until they touched
and became entwined.
A change of direction
by the southerly breeze
separated their stems
by kissing their leaves.
With blushed yellow petals
they recovered their pose
and one again danced
amongst the purple and the rose.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Head On Collision
I've been waiting for a good day
I've been holding back long enough
I've been hurting to tell you some things
it's not the falling of the temperature
that's making all our bones run cool
it's the breeze you make
the presence felt when you're around me
and it feels like I'm at an all-time low
slightly bruised and broken
from our head on collision
I've never seen this side of you
another tragic case of feeling
bruised and broken
from our head on collision
I've never seen this side of you
another tragic case
and I'm still waiting for a good day
I think I've held this long enough
I think it's safe to tell you some things
it's not just what you say to people
and it's not the way you look at me
it's the way you present yourself
for all your worst critics to see
and it feels like I'm at an all-time low
slightly bruised and broken
from our head on collision
I've never seen this side of you
another tragic case of feeling
bruised and broken
from our head on collision
I've never seen this side of you
another tragic case
then you were gone
you were gone
all this time you just didn't know it yet
you were gone
all this time you just didn't know it yet
you were gone
and it feels like I'm at an all-time low
slightly bruised and broken
from our head on collision
I've never seen this side of you
another tragic case of feeling
bruised and broken
from our head on collision
I've never seen this side of you
another tragic case
another tragic case of feeling
bruised and broken
another tragic case and I've been
still waiting for a good day
still waiting for a good day
song performed by by New Found Glory from Sticks And Stones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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