Fences
Fences are built from bricks and mortar,
Then wood is added to the list of torture.
Fenced in houses are loving and breezed,
By the winds, also the very gales that are pleased.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Straight Pathway
My opening of the doors created folly,
Abhor those who sit and wait, with ice.
The life of plenty condemns nobody,
Letting fences be built for the gardens.
Return to the grass, if a straight course
Means a pathway to the enemy.
Buildings of bricks and mortar
Shall make offerings to Nature.
My opening of the door to Nature
Is like that of the entrance to Time.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Honey-Do List (This is my attempt at a Sestina)
I wrote a long honey-do list
and handed it to my husband.
With a smile he read it and with a fold
he stuffed it in his pocket.
I'll get to this as soon as I can,
but can't you hear the cry from the dogs.
Who can't hear the cry of the dogs?
Did you not read my list?
If you won't do it I can,
I said to my loving husband
I took the list from his pocket.
And opened it at the fold.
It was closed with a fold,
because I want to hunt my dogs.
Now return it to my pocket.
I will get to the list,
Said my loving husband.
I'll get to it when I can.
I'm doing the best I can,
and he creased it at the fold.
Cried out my loving husband,
you know I love my dogs.
I'll get around to this list
and returned it to his pocket.
With my fingers I tapped the pocket,
maybe you can't but I can,
dropp you from my list.
Grabbing me he did fold
me in his arms like he does his dogs.
I am your loving husband.
I promise you said my loving husband,
with a hand on his heart across his pocket
I love you more than my dogs
I'll get to you when I can
Please return me to your fold
Because you know you head my list
Thirty-two dogs and one husband
added to my list and stuffed in a pocket
Enjoy it while I can and iron out our differences at the fold.
poem by Victoria Dame
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The reason for this project comes from my childhood, that is clear to me. I did not have any toys. So, I played in the bricks of ruined buildings around me and with which I built houses.
quote by Anselm Kiefer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house-the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house.
quote by Benjamin Britten
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fences And Fidelities
marriages were made
to be broken, that seems to be the rule now
women have long demanded
fidelity
not 1% of unfaithfulness is considered
as an excuse
now, i travel alone, watching the long roads
approach me like a movie
houses in the cities forestalled by
tall buildings
inferior to the heights of modernization
seemingly the old houses are gone
now like marriages
except those in the suburbs
where old house still persists
with their fences
like fidelity, i guess it must be fenced
to keep it away from
infection, love a green grass
marriage still like an old lifestyle
where the wife picks the flowers
while the husband still plays
with his favorite dog
and his kids.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Bricks and mortar make a house, but the laughter of children makes a home.
Sad Exchange
Quietly thinking to myself
Sharing half our mind instead of none
The shakings just begun
The pleasantries are gone,
This sad exchange pleased neither one of us
So we finally gave up
Meanings tend to give out
The Time was gone to act out
this living torture, living torture
No talking When I want you to Listen
No talking cos it's Living torture, Living torture
Dont know why, dont know why, we cant stand aside
(I don't want your many faces
we don't see right)
If I had known back then
Whatever I know now
I'd think Id have answers but I dont know why
So we finally gave up
The Meanings tend to give out
The Time was gone to act out
But Here I am and Im still living
No talking when I want you to listen
No Talking cos it's Living Torture, Living Torture
No talking when I want you to listen
Don't tell me what Im trying to say to you
Both of us know
What it sounds like in my mind
Now both of us know
What it sounds It Sound like
Both of us know
What it sounds like in my mind
Now both of us know
Now both of us know
No talking when I want you to listen
No Talking cos it's Living Torture, Living Torture
No talking when I want you to listen
Don't tell me what Im trying to say to you
Quietly thinking to myself
This sad exchange pleased neither on of us
[Thanks to [email protected] for these lyrics]
song performed by by Finger Eleven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bricks
Bricks have succumbed today from fright,
Loathing them shall pray and subdue,
Forming statements of devils and demons,
The killers of their souls are right.
May the bricklayers build houses
And mansions of the readings
And writings of the holiness
That stays and remains with politeness.
This day, we bespeak and beam on the crowd
Looking sideways and observing the material;
The gale winds rush forward with facial
Hurts, and facial works, and facial feelings.
I have bricks in my soul that shudders
From the weight attached to the words
Of this poem that is right like the words
Inside the house we have defined with closeness.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I provide the bricks and mortar with the words and situations - the director and the actors and the designers build the house.
quote by Eric Bogosian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Still Wood
A raven nearby
Non breezed
In the morning light.
Buds unfolding
Forming beauty.
Spring touching the wood
In solitude and silence.
Presenting the Creator
Of it all....
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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Love
Love is fleeing
Requires daily work to grasp its fashion
Like black and white rainbows
Impassioned rejection
Uncontrolable intimate addiction
Could saftely individualize
Walls built
Bricks of egotism
Neat impassive layered rows
Mortar made with efficent channeled efficaious pain
Impersonation of a contending composure
Courious,
Aluring Infatuation
Unoticed
Endorsing accumulative decietful foundation cracks.
poem by Howard Johnson
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The cost of acquiring new customers and maintaining those relationships in an online environment versus bricks and mortar is significant.
quote by Stephen Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where I Live....you Know It.
a house is built
made of bricks, red as blood
at the center of the island
black as a mole
at the middle of your right
cheek
it is fenced by the locks of
your hair
it is guarded by the cautious
tongue of your face
at the other side
bounded by a big brown river
is a cottage
no living room, no kitchen
not even a restroom
it is just a square cottage
with roof leaking
where i can see the stars
if you know me well enough
for years that i have been with you
and for days that i have left you
you shall know where i live
and if you love me well enough
you'll take nothing with you
to follow me
and i know you will never be lost
until you find
the place where my heart sings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Repost....
a house is built
made of bricks, red as blood
at the center of the island
black as a mole
at the middle of your right
cheek
it is fenced by the locks of
your hair
it is guarded by the cautious
tongue of your face
at the other side
bounded by a big brown river
is a cottage
no living room, no kitchen
not even a restroom
it is just a square cottage
with roof leaking
where i can see the stars
if you know me well enough
for years that i have been with you
and for days that i have left you
you shall know where i live
and if you love me well enough
you'll take nothing with you
to follow me
and i know you will never be lost
until you find
the place where my heart sings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fallen Twigs
Not one interest do I have,
To be caught up in the mix...
And added to the list,
Of unfortunate statistics.
Too many lessons I have learned,
From feeding those yearnings that burned...
To leave me mentally drained and physically sick,
Because of desires I had to be a part of it.
Not one interest do I have,
To be caught up in the mix...
And added to the list,
Of unfortunate statistics.
Too many I have seen that were demeaned,
After exhausting themselves for someone else...
To be left as fallen twigs.
To wither of potential that held promises to bloom.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Gone but not forgotten
The water meadow by the stream
where I was wont to sit and dream.
Has disappeared, replaced by
much less pleasing to my eye.
A street of brick red bungalows.
You can’t halt progress I suppose.
This used to be a pleasant place
of beauty now there’s little trace.
Developers just do not care
they’re building houses everywhere.
Despoiling every beauty spot
in search of any vacant lot.
Though city dwellers wish to live
Somewhere at least an hours drive
from the city where they strive.
I do not think I can forgive
Destruction of my riverside.
Now ugly bricks and mortar hide.
the water meadows where I dreamt.
I owe them nothing but contempt.
2-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Symbolic Gesture
A symbol has been born, of vitality,
Offering the world the chance to bind.
Bonds of luxury are acting like flowers
Of every colour, of every degree.
The world has surmounted the role
Of protector, protection is the symbol.
A symbolic gesture has actuated the real
Demand for authority to be exact.
The exact aims of a generation are upon us,
Their fences are of wood, wooden bricks.
poem by Naveed Akram
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the old houses of Vigan
the old houses
claim their right
not not be changed
they shiver when
you touch
any of their
walls
they fear that you
may soon change
your mind
and proclaim
that beauty lives
in new
creations
you ask yourself
if truth is truer
when tested by the
fading of time
or its ultimate
disappearance upon
the cajolery of
recent promises
the truth frowns upon
you
you are late
and you walk upon the
shallowness of
those reddish bricks
the old houses are howling
with the winds of
change
they have outlived fire
and played on those
earthquakes and
floods
you walk away
and you simply let them be
beautiful in their own ways
magnificent
in those dresses of
cracking paints
they still look regal
on those faces
framed by stones
surely, they have the right
still to be here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I think your life is governed not by the bricks or mortar around you, it's governed by who holds your hand and who spits in your eye.
quote by David McCallum
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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