For Sybella
In the blind corner of a slope
Mellifluously painted by her lips
And the crow claws clinging
Into the vividness of her orbits
Was a clandestine damsel
With lithe hands that dangles
Lifelessly for a valiant knight
To fill in the vacant spaces
Of the latticing jocund events
And the silence spoke of so many things
Like the yawning of her ocean's tides
Calling in an esoteric plea
For somebody to arrive naked
From a face, a name,
A myriad of promises,
But a soul made of amber and warmth
Holding a key to the ethereal
Impasse of consistent forever.
In the corners of her rooms,
Weaving a blanket with yarns
To fondle and embrace
The crying maudlin in the nights
Of vying for the rise of the sun
Ornately entangling the strings
And it pulled back to ail
Tightly in her skin of snow
Melting in the ubiquitous summer
But never losing its mistral curse,
Extemporizing gaiety and anguish
To people with cellars for ears
And thieves for hearts
Touching the emptiness
From the belly to the heart
And gorging it with abandonment,
Fueling resentment.
Sybella, the lady of secrets
Have you heard the sun singing
For the warm flight of canaries?
Is it futile?
Do not fall in blind rile.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Telescope
To trust your judgment
Sanguine and skeptic
And seize the esoteric
Elucidation of yourself
That you had found in
A sphere of naked honesty
And, exhume an omnipresent lie
And regress back into your chrysalis.
To defy abandonment
By entangling your strings
Like a gamine arachnid
And prance in the threads
Like a jocund circus geisha
And when you look at the audience,
More apt, their absence, fall from grace
With a shattered skull.
To look at the telescope
And muse upon the remote
Islands in the vale galaxy
That tinkers in your eyes
Extemporizing a vicarious
Understanding and acceptance
And, understand that your vision is deluded
You're at the wrong end of the telescope.
poem by Norman Santos
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Guilty Hands
Jagged enamels
Shrilling with the pounding
Of the weary heart, dithering
With the whittling of the eyes
Scraping the memories
And clinging on the bleeding
Of the benumbed scalp
Callused knuckles
Swelling with profound boils
From rubbing each other
To ignite warmth and scorch
With a burning pain
To reckon the life
In a tightrope dance
Between dispensing the light
Or melting with the dark.
Sweating palms
From the endless toil
Of vying for warmth
And from clasping tightly
In the gnarls of the time
At its gravid best
Slewing gracefully
Fluidly with the sweat.
Tremors of fingers
Daunted by the endeavor
Of grazing hearts
And handing another
To shutter and break
Swathed with hope and trust
To be entangled
Consistently, constantly
Forever.
Four deep crevasses
Between the looming fingers
Barren and disembogued
Yearning to be filled
Not by pity,
But with vestal strings
Coiling in the spaces
Feeling the frailty.
Hold me.
poem by Norman Santos
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As I Wait For For You
and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill
i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill
when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it
i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you
i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul
do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep
just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness
we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins
we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Incarceration
I have lost my dexterous hands,
My impenetrable iron eyes,
And the harried sly of my smile,
For all superfluous shards of heaven
Encapsulated in an esoteric creed
Of vying regardless; a hunger
For vindication in its uttermost
Despicable context, more apt
A regardless vying;
When I woke up garroted
By the juxtaposed malaise in my bed
That I am a tatterdemalion maudlin
Incarcerated by the mendacity
Of false-hopes and sedative truths
And seized by the sleeper cell
Of the all-pervading pervert:
Harsh veracity, I knew I am
Forever and alone;
A precarious curse of solitariness
And there is no reservation
For recuperation, for convalesce
I lost everything I had
When I had realized,
I never had at all.
poem by Norman Santos
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Heart's Embrace
for ever shall this curse me?
this fire with it's amazing warmth and beauty
for ever shall i see you in the sky
ur shinning light of care, a lie?
for you will chose the moon, to let your soul fly
she is beautiful how ever am i to deny
im just the water, within the earths embrace
im a silvery thing attached to the moon with a thin lace
for ever shall i see the face
the shinning light above this place
you will choose the moon, to let your hearts combined
in not in the air or the sky, i can see you sun; i am not blind
my moon my moon hear me do you mind?
i am here and you are there; and your smiling so kind.
i am just a moving mirror, reflecting your light
within my beloved earths embrace day and night
could you forgive me my moon for my fright?
could you forgive me my earth for my delight?
could you love me the same my moon?
could you still smile down on me, if you knew my heart's boon?
could you hold me the same my earth, in your embrace if i sang a new tune?
coul you still fill me with light my sun, and sing attune?
for i should not ask for such things
i should answer all of the with great greetings
my moon, my dearest light of silver lace, you should not know of my ravings
my earth my dearest earth with your loving embrace, you shouldnt know of my quislings.
this should haunt me no more
its been open my moon, your magic door
so in twilight that is yet to come, you my moon and my sun may adore
and ill be here your mirror in my earth embrace, hiding my watery hearts face forever more
poem by Elenore Elizabeth
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Looking, Watching, Waiting
It's Winter now,
And everything is cold and bare.
Used to be lush and green,
Covered in leaves.
The snow is melting.
It's getting warmer.
Spring is on it's way.
Now Spring has come
The snow has all melted,
And the trees are getting more leaves.
It's warm now,
And i can't wait for Summer to arrive.
Summer is finally here!
I go outside and run barefoot through the streets.
Windows are open and the birds are singing.
Summer is finally here!
Now Summer is gone, and Fall is in the air.
Soon it will get colder,
And i will once again be looking, watching, waiting,
For Summer's arrival.
poem by Vi Lanflagle
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5. 8. 6.
I see danger
On the corner sent by me
Shadows the ways
Straight away you ran from me
I heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
I heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
I hear silence
I hear silence in my heart [house]
From a distance
Turn your back and run [hide] from me
Heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
Heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
When it happens
You will be no friend of mine
Take the first chance
When I am no longer free
Heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
Heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
In the future
When you want me in your heart
I wont be there [help you]
If you call out in the dark
Heard you calling
Yes, I heard you calling
Heard you calling
Oh yes I heard you, heard you, heard you, heard you calling
Can you hear me deep inside
From these feelings I cant hide
Can you hear me deep inside
From these feelings I cant hide
Oh, can you hear me deep inside
From these feelings I cant hide
Can you hear me calling you (4x)
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Singing Shadows
Chained neck,
I'm your wounded slave,
Bleeding heart but you not crying,
My love is way too late,
Shave your mind, and I'l wax mine.
He cried, he called your name,
With 20 years comes too much pain,
It had to be done, done today,
I'l sing your song, while you hum it.
Poisoned wine or Russian roulette,
He chose, I just listened,
Ocean tides are wild at night, so swim with me, if you willing.
Chuck of skin on an empty plate,
You taste the blood while you cuming.
Tiger's smile even while they cry,
You will love me in the morning.
Folded lips send my soul to sleep,
Your wicked smile still hunts me,
A flagrant Foul, I tried calling you now
From Mr. jailer's phone this morning.
Singing shadows on broken windows,
Ululating babies at dawn, they mourn.
The mirror reflecting a burning scare crow,
Now from you I shall forever run.
RUN I MUST,
RUN.
Run like a mouse,
Cause cats are pretty cute till they eat you,
Or you eat them,
Tattoo your tears on my chest,
Just to excite me,
Better yet,
To remind me, of how much you spite me.
Your laugh shatters vatican walls,
A clue to your heart I always ignored,
Let's record today on our time line,
As we dance to the whispering hamony of our soul in one accord,
And if there be a God,
In his embrace we shall someday re-unite as one.
07/28/12. College Park, Maryland.
poem by Jolomi Amuka
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The Rain
When my older brother
came back from war
he had on his forehead a little silver star
and under the star
an abyss
a splinter of shrapnel
hit him at Verdun
or perhaps at Grünwald
(he’d forgotten the details)
he used to talk much
in many languages
but he liked most of all
the language of history
until losing breath
he commanded his dead pals to run
Roland Kowaski Hannibal
he shouted
that this was the last crusade
that Carthage soon would fall
and then sobbing confessed
that Napoleon did not like him
we looked at him
getting paler and paler
abandoned by his senses
he turned slowly into a monument
into musical shells of ears
entered a stone forest
and the skin of his face
was secured
with the blind dry
buttons of eyes
nothing was left him
but touch
what stories
he told with his hands
in the right he had romances
in the left soldier’s memories
they took my brother
and carried him out of town
he returns every fall
slim and very quiet
he does not want to come in
he knocks at the window for me
we walk together in the streets
and he recites to me
improbable tales
touching my face
with blind fingers of rain
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Ocean of love
Locked in warm embrace
Two bodies knitted together
Hands touching
Bodies touching
Lips touching
Not wanting to be separated
Oh, the waves
Just like the waves
Of the ocean, deep clear blue
Swelling and swelling
And getting to its peak
Crashing so suddenly
It is such an ecstasy
That only two warm bodies
Can produce, swimming
Swimming in the ocean of love
Two hearts joined together
Two heart beats, beating in unison
With waves of emotion
Deep in the crevices
Until you can wait no more
And you go deeper
Until you are translated
Into the cloud
Where you are
And you cannot wait
You cannot wait
And you pant
Faster and faster
Gasping for breath
Swallowed up
In the ocean of love
poem by David Oladipupo Olorunshola
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Drowning the Sea
My walls shudder and the persiennes rustled
Whispering secrets to each other
And tingling my curiosity
To open the portmanteaux
Where I have stashed the tides
With surges I cannot defeat
But I would not let myself deplete
Into the seductions of the ocean
And her airborne secrets
Your tides, they were pristine and feral
And I had pleasured myself
From the delusive consoles
Catching it in my palms
Like a paramour's hand
In spite of the saltiness of your fingers
That would detour from my frantic clasp
Filleting my hopes, every time
Until I gladly drown with all that I have
In your sympathy
That I have taken erroneously
Everything sank
I am dead-beaten and sea-sick
With the drifting consoles
Of the voracious sea
Because at these times
Where the gears of the clock collapses
And does not seize each other
I am drawn to reckon
And probe for honesty
In the vertigo of surrender
And I grew sterner by the helm
Taking the mistral gale
As an endless beating
With the mistral blades
Of different shades
Like tonight, for instance
The cordial yuletide hue
Is ballasted by my veracity
As another vacant holiday
In a vacant banquet
Of vacant platters
Indeed, this is how I grew sterner;
Surging the breaking waves
With a sea-sick stomach
An overwhelming surf
Over the slopes of skepticism
Until the undulation settles
And the sea drowns
Into a numbed state and
The waves and the gusts
Would be driven back to the shore
And I shall attend
The pangs of a vacant holiday
And that, I do prefer,
For it is not inflicted
By my own flimsy hands
And I would not be shaken
By the whispers and the rustles
Inside the bolted portmanteaux.
poem by Norman Santos
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Hors-d’oeuvre
Long ago and far away
lived a knight not so bold
and he often considered
how he would rescue a damsel in distress.
Not being bold or handsome to
the knight wondered what he should do.
Then came a day
when his lady fair was kidnapped
and the knight was perplexed
at what he should do.
Mounting his steed he galloped
to the castle where she was held.
The walls of the castle
seem to stretch to the sky.
How was he to save her
and rescue her virtue from these wicked men?
He could not scale this fortress
and breech its stone walls,
From within the walls he heard
groans and wails ring out.
The thoughts of them
stealing her virtue
made his voice ring out.
“Open the gates and let me in.”
The gates duly opened
and the knight with sword in hand
quickly rode his steed in.
There was his lady fair
being ravished by several men.
“Leave ye lady fair alone.”
The knight was taken back
as his lady fair’s voice
echoed in his ears.
“Be gone you silly knight,
can’t you see this lady
wants to have some fun.”
6-7 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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Take
Take my heart,
Take my soul,
Take my smile,
Just take everything you already took from me,
You took my smile,
As I cry a mile,
You my soul,
As I am soulless,
You took my heart,
As you tore it apart,
You took away everything I had,
You left me dying on the ground,
As I lay crying,
Crying in shameless,
As I crawl in a hole never to see day light again,
You made me feel shame,
You made me blame things on myself,
You play games with my mind,
I am blind to see how much you had hurt me,
Blind to know that you didn’t love me.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Avoiding History
avoiding history is a family tradition,
draft dodging, missing wars, as far
back as my fathers go, I find
no soldiers, no warriors and also
no lovers. we don't write
in my family, we withdraw
our stories on objection, stop
telling them. we keep secrets.
I keep my own secrets and rarely
tell them, keep my truth
from coming back to hurt me.
I learn slowly but I learn well,
to keep my secrets, avoid history.
I avoided history by protesting war
and by refusing to marry.
I learned late, but I learned well.
your eyes tell your history, your belly,
in its soft geography, hints at mine.
I don't enlist, I avoid being drafted,
my bridges burn behind me.
I read history in the slope of her breasts,
her silence uses me in my telling.
I have many ways to lie,
using a sharp knife to separate
flesh from nerve, bone and tendon.
how many times have I undressed you,
hearing you tell me that I don't care
about anything, until you turn
away from me, turn on me, turn
to stone. I turn you over, exploring
history in the cleft of your ass,
touching with my hands but never
touching you, feeling alone finally,
shedding uniforms and telling stories.
lies return in the secrets I keep, hints
I cover with long explanations.
you come to me, naked, asking questions
and feel betrayed, telling me finally
that I don't matter and never
was real to you. I tell you
I was a soldier, that I fought,
and you lie to me by undressing yourself,
nakedness concealing your aims.
I read history in the curve of your thighs,
my tongue seeking your skin, seeking
you in your skin, tasting
beneath your skin. I find
your secrets, I tell your history
and turn my back to you. in sleep,
you back away, waking,
you dismiss me and I write a secret
history, full of lies and silences.
poem by Jesse Weiner
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Porcelina Of The Vast Ocean
I fear that I am ordinary, just like everyone
To lie here and die among the sorrows
Drift along the days
For everything I ever saidAnd everything I've ever done is gone and dead
As all things must surely have to endAnd great loves will one day have to part
I know that I'm not ment for this world
My live's been extraordinary
Blessed and cursed and wons
Time heals but I'm forever brokenBy and by the way....
Have you ever heard the wordsI'm singing in this song?
It for the one I've waited all along
Can a taste of love be so wrong?
As all things must surely have to endAnd great loves will one day have to part
I know that I'm not ment for this world
And in my mind as I was floatingFar above the clouds
Some children laughed I'd fall for certain
For thinking that I'd last forever
But I knew exactly where I was
And I knew the meaning of it all
And I knew the distance to the sun
And I knew the echo that is love
And I knew the secrets in your spires
And I knew the emptiness of youth
And I knew the solitude of hearts
And I knew the murmurs of the soul
And the world is drawn into your hands
And the world is ethed upon your heart
And the world so hard to understand
Is the world you can't live without
'Cause I knew the silence of the world
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Attic Key
When the transpiration of earliest dews
Failed to staid and invigorate
The amputated isthmus of the atrium
You would blithely shun
All the lovely, saccharine bones
Even the crunchy stride
Of the svelte V-formation
Of the veering migrating birds
Paving the soggy nimbuses
Of hapless shades and parasols
For they unfurl a reminder
Of capitulating abandonments
And like a wolf without a howl
You would aimlessly amble
With feet of morose
To cave inside, distraught,
In the clandestine dappled corners
Where the myriad of the dead
And the plenitude of dying breaths
Rattle uncouthly for
A greater hunger
And in the riving of hushed comport
Of the attic's remedy
You would sulk to descry
Your maudlin heart beating briskly
Sodden from the attrition
Of the charlatan sun
Amongst the trellises of cobwebs
And shoddy bed of dusts
You would lay your empathy
And the stagnant breathing
Of the attic's clockwork verve
Would feign an assuaging sweep
To resuscitate the prattling blood
Fervently seeping through
To clutch you closer
Like a bullet darting through
The place where no one knew
Divulging its own nadir
And that was all
That your bleeding needs
To find that you are
Not yet in the bottom
Of your so called pits
And the sun would again seethe
Grazing mellifluously
The bullets buried
To your aching lovely bones
And swear and spiel a promise
To purge the bleak attic
From its latticing derision
And let the light stray and stall
When the next morning dawn
But you always seem to forget
Where the promises coiled
Perhaps, you have crucified a script
In the scathing walls of the chambers
Of the pumping mechanical valves
That you need the fathoms
Of the attic's secrets
So you would stash
The attic key
Into the pathos
Of remorseful wisps
In cases
Of emergency.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Sad Truth Is
oh yes
i held your hand
i remembered the warmth
i heard every beat
of our hearts
but
the warmth did not last
like mornings
it faded at the end of the
day
the heart beats
mellowed into the
comfort of
the bosom of
silence
the sad truth is that
at the final chapter
there is only
one man
walking alone
as the sun sets
as you welcome the night
as you finally
arrive in your house
turn on the lights
and cook for yourself
and dine
alone
with your own romantic
candlelight.
hands do not last forever
heartbeats stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not knowing you is respect
I ask your name, what you do, what you are,
You said
I do not have to know you
You are nobody
You have no name
You do nothing
You are not what you are
I am not knowing
I do not know you
We call each other as friends
Blind friends
Two blind friends touching a big elephant
And we shall say different things
You are nobody and I am nobody too
That is identity enough
Respect for nobody to nobody
Blindness is now dignity
We feel the heart
Because we have no eyes
We do not touch
We have no hands
We only speak
Because what we have are only
Two hearts. No eyes. No hands.
A mouth a nose. We are breathers in space.
We are incomplete. That is complete
Respect for humanity.
We are simply breathers. Nobody touching nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Southern Equinox
The roof is leaning a bit
While the eaves are listening close
It's a mighty wind come to call
Swirling and whirling
Flower blossom are curling
Me thinks, it's the calling card of Fall;
August so snug in it's comforter of warmth
Holding, holding on, ever so tight
Keeping September at bay with her sizzle
Promising not to give up her fight;
Alas, Summer's last hurah is about to be
As claimed by this mighty wind's way
Around the corner in latter September days
Autumn will arrive, crisp and ready to play;
Gone will be the green grass and comforting warmth
And the blue skies endless bend
Sunshine will give way to a Firmament of Grey
Hence, Summer will surely come to her end!
poem by Theodora Onken
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The nature of her beauty
The nature of her beauty
~
her pale soft skin
pure like untouched fields of snow
her lips red like the roses petal
feather like in their kiss
those eyes warm like the earth
feed my soul with a richness of passion
the depth of which is limitless
bury my heart into hers
let me lay amongst her nature
let me rejoice her beauty
let her words sing to me
the essence of her soul
place my hands in hers firmly
that I may feel their warmth
holding eternally
there is a beauty undying
embedded into my heart
and its all in her nature
poem by Matthew Holloway
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