Into Emptiness Engulfing Emptiness
Still and silent
I rivaled the weather
like a weathercock
swaying with the squall
because my reticence
is soused in the kerosene
of broken amities
hauling an aversion
to trusting, to people
but the fire is compulsive
in the growing tedium
With eloquent words
I vied to unmake memories
but emptiness wasn't
an auspicious confidant
I hunger for company
underneath the diffidence
to fill the disemboguing
ravine of quintessence
I wallowed haplessly
like an eternal child
fumbling for the thread
that leads the way out
these labyrinthine walls
but Theseus' tapestry
remained unwoven
for Ariadne remains
forged and elusive
So my soul caromed
into a deterred ballet
I vied for irony
as I swayed with the farce
and molted with the mediocre
like a writhing moth
searching for its home
in the light of a fire
and its perilous beauty
until my gusts abate
and my wings fold
into the cobwebs
of my shabby struggles
While the blood seeps out
and empties the bones
hollowness was generous
to submerge the lilt
of my coruscating laments
and then there was
nothing at all -
emptiness gnawing
the empty home
ensconced in an empty home.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Darrel
On his shoulder
are the weight of his struggles,
his prostrate grief,
and esoteric quintessence;
the impending doom
that defeat riveted
On his hands
are burns from cigarettes,
an empty bottle
and everything else
lifeless and afraid
On his eyes
are shut persiennes
veiling the shadows that
love has casted
and its silver web
of emptiness
On his brittle bones
shivers the abhorrence
for ephemeral amities
and its affinity
which is the love
for weak beacons leaning
on tired sunsets
He traversed skylines
like arrows assailed
to the stygian flames
and to get out of his track
is a distraction from
the eternal malaise
that he is trying to chase
and escape all the same
He counted little deaths
and little details -
like felled petals,
and lambent sighs;
like the sequins
and tears evocated
Darrel was not his name,
because his existence
is but a fallen grain
in the hour glass -
he was jeopardized
a beau not,
a confidant not,
a wise not,
a luxury not,
a poet not,
but he was an eternal child
who knows not
but the home built
with monoliths
from scoured grace
And to be given
a home with walls,
frail constitutions,
a hearth for warmth
where nobody
had a name
despite myriad of
regrets and failures
that a man wouldn't
even surmise
was a splendid bliss
for Darrel
and Darrel
was his name.
poem by Norman Santos
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Emptiness Comes
EMPTINESS COMES
Emptiness comes-
There is nothing to say
Nothing to write-
But Nothing is for me only nothing
It is not the goal and the meaning-
Egolessness belongs to saints of a certain kind
I am not a saint-
Emptiness disappears with the writing
Words and meanings come-
I suppose one will be empty forever
When one is alive
What can Emptiness give?
I have written against the Emptiness
And am less empty now for now-
Thank God I no longer feel empty now-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Swallow
When a swallow lost its track home
dementia gave her wings a dungeon -
a cavernous cellar eating itself inwards
plume to soul, banishing the quintessence
rifted on the hallow meandering bones
Her nest is an asylum of felled stars
brooding for the manifold gusts
that lead her flight back home
and in this plight, adrift the sky
she dreams of their crystalline eyes
the angel's sequins glittering
upon the insipid atmosphere
but their lights won't hatch
for her shallow clouds anymore
When she leaned on the sunsets
she remembered the seaward drift;
A pang on her unfixed wings
and insufficient incendiary
Suspended in a limbo between
the eclipse of memories, and
the equinox of her broken reality
She will dissolve into the sedative
flapping of jellyfish wings
and the willowy breeze hauling
her burdens out of their chambers
and the walls would remain unscathed
for when it topples, she would
glide down into the bottom
of a bottomless abeyance.
poem by Norman Santos
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9
if you leave
leave at once
for i have nothing
to say,
others ask
what to say when someone
you love says
about leaving?
i say
go, go, find what is lacking
find that which must complete you
and if you are empty still
do not come back to me
for i am empty too
how can emptiness fill another
emptiness?
mine will always be an invitation
i care
but once refused
there is no where
where you can find me
i am also gone
searching what you have been searching
but now it
shall not be you
i'll have someone else
who can fill
my own emptiness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Empty Holes
Fill up the empty holes in my life.
Fill them before it's too late.
Find the missing qualities I have
and let the emptiness abate.
Recognition of these things I need
must be foremost in my mind.
Or the empty holes that need attention
will probably be left behind.
They will follow me like burned out stars
that cannot shine again.
And the emptiness I feel inside
will mark my journey's end.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Take Me Home
looking for them streetcaf?
looking for that face, a night after a day
a day I made love to empty dreams
and nothing's like what it seems
nothing's like what it seems to be nomore
freedom's kissed by loneliness
somebody take away that emptiness
I layed on myself and...
chorus:
take me home tonight
take me on my own
take me all alone
just come and take me home
take me home tonight
take me on my own
take me all alone
just come and take me...
home
I've seen so many faces I
I've seen so many nights
nights without a trace
so I'm sitting in that streetcaf?
haven't found that face
the face that makes me say
freedom's kissed by sweet caress
nobody took away that emptiness
that I layed on myself so...
chorus
there's so much I felt but I can't explain
the urge of love remains, but all these easy faces change
still so much I feel but still I can't explain
am I the one to blame
I can't hold a face without a name nomore
it's up to me to... take me home tonight
take me home tonight
take me on my own
take me all alone
just come and take me home
just come and take me home
just come and take me home
take me all alone
just come and take me home
just come and take me home
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ashen Yellow Daffodils
Like an eagle
in distant altitude
(only it was the other way around)
I watched you
swaying like yellow daffodils
your sweet pollens
failing to reach me
Vertiginously, I mused
on my poor magnitude
like chess pieces
with no other move
deadlocked into
a struggle fortified
by the taste of defeat
The foot prints I left
to trace you back
are unwoven with utmost care
because the quartz didn't recognize
my empty weight
when I vied and left
With my stars felled
from my jeopardizing sky
there's no one left
to become the warden
of my eccentricities
and I am but a prison
of myself
There is lost
and there is blame
on myself
for the sun that set
on my shabby heaven.
poem by Norman Santos
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God, Bless the Womb and Home
Empty not the womb!
Empty not your home;
God fills the womb;
Cradle the unborn too!
A child is love
From God above;
Love all children;
Miss not heaven.
Rock the unborn,
Night and morn;
Say ‘No’ to porn!
Avoid God’s scorn.
Murder in the womb
Empties such a home;
Every child, welcome;
Each Child is love of God
made flesh! .
Let the womb
Remain the home
For humankind,
Not tomb!
God fills your womb;
Joy fills your home!
God, bless each womb;
God bless that home.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9/11/10
poem by John Celes
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He And She
he was empty and she came into his life
he had nothing in mind
he practically had nothing to think for his future
he is empty and she comes like warm air to his balloon
and she lifts him up
somewhere up in the skies
and they are together
and then on top of the world
the exhaustion comes
there is no more fire
there is no more warm air and he is still empty and she is consumed
he must fall with her
to the ground and they must start to live again
like real things
like real people
he must fill his emptiness with what he wants to
she may look for warm air
and some other modes of unnoticeable deceptions
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poet Not
Hello Stranger,
Have you read my endeavors?
Have you dissected the tassels
of my ornate tapestry
of grief, of shabby bliss?
Because underneath
the obsidian armour of
these eloquent words
is a door left ajar
for someone to penetrate
my shy impenetrable curtains
Dear Stranger,
I am no one and
I have never been important;
I am nobody's son,
no proud homeland,
not a good comrade,
not an idyllic beau,
not a simple soul,
my esoteric penchant
for a profound quintessence
is a casualty
glaring with a neon sign
But would you be generous
to let me covet the banner
of a poet - manqué or laureate?
Would you not take
a poet for granted and peer
behind the eloquently tossed
epistles and paroxysmal rhymes?
Would you be parsimonious
of the serrated veracity
that my arcane tirade
is defunct of grandiosity?
Would you cure
me egoistic affliction
slowly and quickly abating
to the void of everything?
Because if am no one,
not even a poet in your
simple and delicate tableau
then I have always been
futilely no one
then please neglect
the spurious laments
of this poet.
poem by Norman Santos
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Home
Written by: tim james, steven mcclintock and marc mancina
Home
The child in my eyes
Stares sometimes
When I was so much younger
Home
A place in the sun
Where memories run
I close my eyes and there I am
Home
The love remains
Through all the years
Through all the change
The sweetest dreams
Ive ever known
Are those of you
And those of home
Time
The turn on a page
The love someone needs
When we were there together
Steal where ever I go
Deep in my soul
A part of me is always there
Home
The love remains
Through all the years
Through all the change
The sweetest dreams
Ive ever known
Are those of you
And those of home
When you smile
And hold me in your arms
Sometimes for the moment
Im that child again
Home
The love remains
Through all the years
Through all the change
The sweetest dreams
Ive ever known
Are those of you
And those of home
Are those of you
And those of home
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lightning Thief
These intrepid hands caught
the descending forks of light
and subdued the harrying cloudburst
like how a child grasps things
out of instinct - from hunger, for safety
with a dire silence in lieu
of the inevitable cleaving
because jeopardizing eyes delve
in the lattices of injured acceptance
for the gnawing pain that scored pride
and the unpaid obeisance
These flimsy hands are burned out
as it steadfastly held unto
the arrowheads of lightning -
the soldering bell rope of alarm
And the treacherously valiant soul,
cautiously and vigilantly, weaves
the heaven's spilled fire of blue
to craft a pall of false pretense:
a gradient of varied palettes
that shall suppress the black hole
siphoning all the scintillating lights
In the limbo of these guzzled suffering
lies an immeasurable abyss
where darkness devours darkness
fecundating the filigree of mistakes
and lost perchance of corrections,
these hands fell suspended
from its larcenous struggle to knot
the ends of heaven's unwoven tassels -
these hailing lightning that
crackled with a shattered frame
and dangles blithely from a tattered tapestry -
for my desire to redeem the casted crown
is deemed futile every time
the blue electric wires slip away
from the pleading grip of my thieving hands
Wuthering for the weeping cicatrix,
these sorry hands vied against
the inertia of predetermined sequence
and still, the old ailing bones
and progressive states of senescence
defeated all the pure endeavors
The sky hurled a riling fist
and stabbed the glassine walls
of these somnambulistic eyes
and the bellicose mangling
was no different than the lightning
I stole in the most intimate privacy.
poem by Norman Santos
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Emptiness Is Both An Illusion And An Irony
emptiness is always an illusion
which carries with it an irony.
when i look at it, as its content shows,
it has nothing
bare hands, opening fingers,
an empty transparent ball, it can
tell your future, it can dig your
past,
thinking that it is spacious, i went
inside it, pierce myself though it
only to find that that are so many
crowding elements in there and they
are choking me and you who is looking
outside it, thinks that nothing is happening
but then the struggle is horrible, quick
and even deadly, so many hang themselves in
empty air, and lose their lives, because
you cannot see the body of breathing,
when you learn to live with it however,
you become full, emptiness is its irony,
its antithesis, for how can you ever be full
if you have never known how to empty yourself?
the face of emptiness is a mist, and you touch
it, you will hold a forest, so many black birds,
myriad exotic orchids, so many blending sounds of
trees screaming, of creeks flowing of waterfalls
cascading that you can relate to the locks of
your hair and the hairs of your armpits,
inside it is too personal to be told, outside it
are so many denials with the faces of the people
that you have loved before, and then you decide
to stay at a distance, you are like a tree
dark as a shadow, counting the hours
when the sun finally fades away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Home
Mamas got her apron on
Standing in the kitchen
Cooking up my favorite dish
Whatever she is fixing
Daddys in a picture in a frame
Thats always sitting by the phone
Daffodils are popping up
Out behind the clothesline
Underneath that tree I planted
When I was just a boy of nine
Man I never can believe
Just how much its grown when I go
Home
Back home
To the gentle place that held be close
As I became a man
And the streets are all familiar
And an old friend shakes my hand
And I feel fine
So fine
Yeah, knowing that this road Im wandering on
From time to time
It always leads me home
Brother, hell be waiting with the
Latest from the grapevine, saying
Man you wont believe them stories
About those crazy friends of mine
And all them little scandals
That a small town cant seem to leave alone
Later on well sit around
Bellies tight from supper
Telling all them stories
That we just cant get enough of
And somewhere in an honest laugh
Itll finally hit me that im
Home
Back home
Where the memories all have gathered up
And slowly turned to gold
And I carry them along with me wherever I may go
And I feel fine
So fine
In knowing that this road Im wandering on
From time to time
It always leads me home
Back home
Well I go and put some flowers down at daddys stone
And I see that empty space beside him
It always makes me glad that I came
Home
Back home
Where the Bible is the bible
And the angels get their wings
And the circle is unbroken
When I hear them church bells ring
And I feel fine
You know I feel so fine
Yeah, knowing that this road Im wandering on
From time to time unwinds
Cross the rivers, through the pines
It always leads me home
Back home
Yeah Im going back home
Back home
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memento
Vertiginously suspended
in my own voracious web,
forage for the silver thread
and find my soul ensnared
and feeding on regrets
Watch my endeavors
metamorphose into a ghost
inside my labyrinthine maps
as I chase the frontier
of the impassable night
and beg to remain undiscovered
under the generous screen
of her jet black locks
defensive and afraid
Sing with my tuned laments
the maddening madhouse of
holiness and obsession
and infuse your own delusion,
Concoct the perfect limbo
that will bear oblivion
and dance along into
my farce tempo
Listen to the sound of
my broken simpers,
my defunct synapses and
my furrowed whispers -
the paradoxical morphing of
my make-believe indifference,
my sedative ebullience
Unwove me with utmost care
Bask under my parasol
the dislimning weather
and abating wanderlust
like a flustered vicissitude
molting skins forever but
never ending for what
had already begun
Like a formless soul
and a dazed sunset
I have nothing grand
like a footprint ashore
constantly washed away
by the leonine water
Muse upon my reflection
ensconced in myriad failures
my memento is a lonely man
painted in vexation from
what went wrong and
who he had become.
poem by Norman Santos
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These Are Just Years
i thought home is where we went when we fell out of favour
ive since learned that home is where we go to learn what favours are
home is a language we all understand
and this is how the language came to me
i realise
home is where we dont feel things
fortune has arranged that the language wont abandon us
it never will abandon us
if you dont miss your home
i cant remember much about my home
when im away from...
home, where were welcome
we appear to be like you
the were welcome when we
appear to be alike
living in fiction
just seems much better than living in words
if you live in fiction
homes no match for a word
ever existence
the more you go on the same as before
the more you light up the same as this time
the more you sing
all your songs about
all your...
living in fiction
is much more better than living in words
if you live in fiction
homes much better than words
living in fiction
just seems much better than living in words
if you live in fiction
then homes no better than words
im in fiction [x6]
and what i see it seems so standard
it always seems that youre left stranded [x6]
why dont you look beond
the village wall?
look beyond the village wall
weve got four walls at home
got four walls at home
and these walls around your head
thats what they are
theyre walls around your head
an empty head is creative
and direct me
to where you come from
and what you thought you knew
where you come from
[?]
home is the most overused word [x4]
love is the most overused word
just are the most overused words
picture this the most
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Belfast Child
When my love said to me
Meet me down by the gallow tree
For its sad news I bring
About this old town and all that its offering
Some say troubles abound
Some day soon theyre gonna pull the old town down
One day well return here,
When the belfast child sings again
Brothers sisters where are you now
As I look for you right through the crowd
All my life here Ive spent
With my faith in God the church and the government
But theres sadness abound
Some day soon theyre gonna pull the old town down
One day well return here,
When the belfast child sings again
When the belfast child sings again
Some come back billy, wont you come on home
Come back mary, youve been away so long
The streets are empty, and your mothers gone
The girls are crying, its been oh so long
And your fathers calling, come on home
Wont you come on home, wont you come on home
Ome back people, youve been gone a while
And the war is raging, in the emerald isle
Thats flesh and blood man, thats flesh and blood
All the girls are crying but alls not lost
The streets are empty, the streets are cold
Wont you come on home, wont you come on home
The streets are empty
Life goes on
One day well return here
When the belfast child sings again
When the belfast child sings again
Music : traditional arrangement : simple minds words : simple minds reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fly Away Home
The bells toll for you today
To fly to your new home in
Yonder sky..
Spread your wings and fly
From down here below,
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home
To your new home in
Yonder sky..
Our hearts are broken and
We fill so blue,
Many tears has been shred
For miss you so
We know you have pass through
Heavens gates
Your journey was hard but the
Bell toll
For you to come home in yonder
Sky..
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home
Your great work you accomplished
Down here below
Have been awarded
Your memory will never fade
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home
To your new home in yonder
Sky..
If I had not died I would have
Been a gospel singer..
But since I’d died I will sing
In the heavenly choir..
So, fly away home
Oh, fly away home...
poem by Carolyn Sears
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My Fire
Fire is my life, fire is my hope, fire is my everything.
Confusion, whipping, whirling never ending.
Always colder, always harder, cruel and devastating all in one.
Fire is my life, fire is my hope, fire is my everything.
Light, I need a light to keep at bay the ever darkening hour.
Searching for warmth, searching to hide, searching to survive.
Fire is my life, fire is my hope, fire is my everything.
A leaf, a twig, anything to find a way.
At last a flame, a hope to guide me from my doom.
Fire is my life, fire is my hope, fire is my everything.
The light is hungry devouring all in its path and growing in strength.
Then suddenly, goodbye mydear with a hiss the light and my salvation go out.
Fire was my life, fire was my hope, fire was my everything.
poem by Angelic Warrior
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Home Alone
I watched time crumble
On the brick floor's slumber
From its fated machinism
And the pallid light of summer
Leaning wearily on the walls
Escaped the frosted windows
With a somnolent opalescence
A wan and aimless escapade,
Such a dreamy afternoon
Where life pounces keeling out
Of gravity and vibrant hues
A slumbering dog, poignant from
The absence of barks and bones
An empty set of walls
Once a place called home
The house swooned over
From its winding knee
And struggling loop of
Tightrope heraldries,
Like the collapse of lungs
As a breath of verve escapes and
Heaves back with a titanic space
To accentuate the hollow break,
Topple and restore, filling emptiness
Without making a sound,
Without any motion, but
The absence of the souls
That became its constitutions
Floods the vivid light with gloom
And the summer is contained
Within a wintry solitude inside
The lone yearning bones
The curtains unruffled,
The floor spread wider,
The ceiling climbed loftier,
And the saudade croons
Played in the air waves
With laughs and simpers
Tinkering the static
And in this chamber,
For now, I'm home alone
Yet, soon, this place
Would be abandoned
By my trifle entity and
The company of my soliloquy
But not of my yearning
And shadows and shards
And lone feeling in the solitariness
That makes this place a home.
poem by Norman Santos
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