Between Going and Coming
Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
poem by Octavio Paz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
There Is Nothing To Write
WELL, FACE THE BLANK WALL
STARE TO THIS BLANK WALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO THIS BLANK WALL
IT IS BLANK
IT IS EMPTY
IT IS A HINDRANCE TO WHAT I WANT TO SEE
IT IS AN OBSTRUCTION
TO WHAT I WANT TO BECOME
THIS WALL
THIS WALL IS MY JAIL
MY PRISON
MY BLINDNESS
THIS WALL MUST BE TORN
THIS WALL MUST BE BOMBED
THIS BLOCK
THIS WEARINESS OF THE HEART
THIS TIREDNESS OF THE SOUL
THIS MALADY OF BEING NOTHING
THIS HAVING NOTHING AT ALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO WRITE
THERE IS NOTHING
THERE IS
now i will write about something
from above
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Middle of Madness
I can hear every tick of the clock.
My body is showered from nervous sweat.
Oh no my pencil tip broke,
and I must stop to sharpen it;
all the while losing time.
My mind has gone as blank
as the paper which I’m writing on.
Tick – Tock goes the clock as time moves on.
Times up the voice shots;
My hand goes limp and my pencil falls to
rest upon the edge of the paper.
I let out a big sigh of relief, for the madness has subside,
For my mid-terms are done.
Worlds Apart
somewhere behind the wall an the glass, my barrier
I can still see her
it's not just the physical distance
it's the invisible wall of my circumstance
I can't talk to you, not just because you're not here
but because you could never hear
with open ears and understand why
and now you can never know me
because I've hidden from you, m all you may do is sigh
and wonder if I; m something more, but never see
now we're worlds apart and e can't talk
I can't speak to you through the glass
I cannot show who I am or how I feel
never to you, not to you, not to who I cherish, not the one i hold dear
not one i trust and want to hold near
can never tell the one who ought to know it all
never tell the one who could break the wall
no. not you, because i need this wall
it keeps me in, but protects me from the love we could share
HAHA who can i kid? i would never even dare
profess to you, because the assurance of a negative response is my
reason. And now we're worlds apart
you stay in yours and ill stay in mine..... I pray you find Jesus
but i am too weak to lead you, I'd get caught up in feelings and love
i wish i could give you my heart
but its not time stay in your world, and strengthen the glass
not to worry, you won't love me, because you won't know me im in another world
poem by David Knox
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A Poem About Excitement To Something Huge And Spread Like Space
i am tiny, like a nit
wit, and i look at you
spread like wall paper on the wall
something is beautiful there
like a face
something in there excites me
like a pulse on my wrist
i am tiny and i feel so tiny
watching you
like a wall paper on the wall, you
are indifferent
i am excited like a chick hatching from
a shell
i am growing feathers
like a chicken
something in you is so huge like a world
that i have never been
i am excited like a puppy to my master
getting out of his car
i love this feeling, this tiny feeling
this world that is expanding
you are my world now, and i fall into
a regret,
when tiny becomes lost
and when the hands melt while groping for the
truth
about beauty that is lost
about existence that is deleted
simply because you are too huge
like space
and i, this atom, unseen,
colliding,
invincible, and now unknown.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blank Mocking Paper
I stare at this paper so white
I just don't know what's so right
I want to write on it
I would love to write a sonnet
I just am alone with the green lines
The red now just starts to shine
Blank as my mind is this sheet
Please can my pen and it just meet
Instead of me sitting here dumbstruck
As if I almost got hit by a truck
Ink blue as the sky not writing
Instead on its end I keep biting
I don't want to right about a caper
So I’ll just stare at this Blank Mocking Paper
poem by Zachary Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So what are you doing with your life now?
She says
She stares blankly on the wall
She is busy
Counting the lamp posts on the streets
She is so busy
She thinks God is preparing something
Grand for her and she is so busy
Too preparing something for God
Who prepares for her.
I am amazed
I ask her
“So, did you stare long enough on that blank wall
Was it really blank? Did you really stare?
What made the wall so blank? Is the stare really
Worth making on a blank wall?
And how many lamp posts have you counted?
Is the street filled with lamp posts?
How is God? When will the preparation last?
How are you doing with God? Is God busy too? ”
She is a little bit understanding to my way of thinking.
“There you are making a poem again. You have never changed.”
She said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A White, Blank Wall
I don’t talk
I sit and stare
At a blank wall
A blank, white wall
Like some things, a waste of space
In need of improvement
If walls could talk
Share smiles and happiness
Tears and pain
Laughter and sorrow
Some people would say
“This wall needs color, change”
What’s wrong with it?
There’s no need for change
All it is
Is a blank, white wall
Wanting to scream out, to cry
Wanting to stay, to live
Desperate to live
Needing to live
Not improve of change
It’s just a blank, white wall
poem by Anna Dietze
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Writer's Guild
pencil is my friend
life is my master
book is my dream
and blank paper is my field
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Blank Sheet Of Paper
I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wall
I shall beat my head against the wall
Until the moment that I die.
Or until the wall does fall
Then beside it I will sit and cry.
Then on another wall I must beat my head,
Until I just cant stand the pain
Then you will understand what I have said
My loss; will be your gain.
And on that wall will be my blood
And there it will always stay,
Mixed with the stone it will be the mud
And like my pain it wont wash away.
I will pound my head against the wall
Until the moment that I am dead
And only then, will I stand tall
Because then will my anguish will be fed.
As I hold no sorrows or remorse
So much pain that I will release
As this is my only course
And only you this action will it please.
I will pound my head against the wall
Until the moment that I am dead
And from the wall my blood will fall
In remembrance of the words I have said.
Then the world will know that I died that day
As my soul will be all that will be left
And in your mind to GOD you will here me pray,
As my destiny, has then been set.
I will pound my head against this wall
Don't you know that I am dying
Then one day, this time you will recall
As you will know that I never was lying.
My blood will be kept on this old stone wall
And there for you it will always stay
And only then will this man stand tall
Because then you will understand what I did say.
Now only GOD can hear what I am crying
From the actions that I did or even say
Upon this wall please know I was only trying
But until then, it will remind you of myself everyday.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare
AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE
An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-
Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-
Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.
There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Our Love
By michael mcdonald & david pack
Lost and lonely lives
Floating like waves at sea
We make it day by day
Watching the world go by
In a moment where time stands still
From here we look out on forever
Chorus:
Darling, our love
One love that never fades away
Our love
This love will light the world on its way
Shattered, broken dreams
Sifting like grains of sand
We claim it and here we stay
Watching the world go by
With the strength that we spend in this life
In the hope that it goes on forever
We believe as we promise to try, that
Chorus:
In a moment when time stands still
From here we look out on forever
And we can see all that time will tell
Chorus:
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tabula Rasa
this is a blank wall
or as you wish it, this could be a blank page,
or you may consider this
a blank mind of a child and
you will be teaching him
some things for the first time,
go, scroll, and find something,
do you remember now, why the child is still in pain?
why the walls are stronger? why the blank page still have stains
of blood in there?
some sad memories that refuse to leave?
don't lose hope, there are still more blank spaces of the mind
imagine it to be some kind of a sky
now, put the stars and the moon, and try wishing
someth ing nice and beautiful
like a boat filled with flowers and some light and then silently it sails
on a very peaceful sea like a fine silky cloth covering the dining table
to the place that you always dream to live
forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spending My Time
Whats the time?
Seems its already morning.
I see the sky, its so beautiful and blue.
The tvs on but the only thing showing
Is a picture of you.
Oh I get up and make myself some coffee.
I try to read a bit but the storys too thin.
I thank the lord above
Youre not here to see me in this shape Im in.
Spending my time,
Watching the days go by.
Feeling so small,
I stare at the wall,
Hoping that you think of me too.
Im spending my time.
I try to call but I dont know what to tell you.
I leave a kiss on your answering machine.
Oh help me please,
Is there someone who can make me
Wake up from this dream?
Spending my time,
Watching the days go by.
Feeling so small,
I stare at the wall,
Hoping that you are missing me too.
Im spending my time,
Watching the sun go down.
I fall asleep to the sound
Of tears of a clown,
A prayer gone blind.
Im spending my time
My friends keep telling me:
Hey, life will go on,
Time will make sure Ill get over you.
This silly game of love -
You play, you win only to lose.
Im spending my time,
Watching the days go by.
Feeling so small,
I stare at the wall,
Hoping that you think of me too.
Im spending my time.
Im spending my time,
Watching the sun go down.
I fall asleep to the sound
Of tears of a clown,
A prayer gone blind.
Im spending my time.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Staying With My Baby
Written by ricky wilde
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
The pain inside
When you think you love another
But cant decide which way to go
And youre searching for a reason to leave his side
In time youll see
It has to be this way
And though it hurts to say
Im gonna be staying with my baby
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
I know hes good for me
I can see that hes feeling down
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
But I know he cares for me
And in time he will come around
So dry your eyes, before you turn away
You must know that Ill always love you
But now, Im staying with my baby
You used to say
I should maybe take it further
And leave one day
My family - but Im responsible for them
They depend on me
So now you see, our love is history
Im sad it has to end
But Im gonna be staying with my baby
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
I know hes good for me
I can see that hes feeling down
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
But I know he cares for me
And in time he will come around
So dry your eyes, before you turn away
You must know that Ill always love you
But now, Im staying with my baby
(Im staying with my baby... yes I am)
Please understand
Hes just a desperate man
Whos doing all he can
So Im going back
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
I know hes good for me
I can see that hes feeling down
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
But I know he cares for me
And in time he will come around
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
Im gonna stay
(Im gonna stay... (Im gonna stay...))
Im gonna stay
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Bruises I
I can stare into the blackness,
the void of many abysses
behind every dark curtains
I can endure calm and silence
watching pole dancers grind,
watching stars scintillate,
watching still shadows on the walls,
watching dislimned reflections,
watching trees pass me by,
watching ethers wash the screen,
watching my lonely feet,
watching little things sway;
but am I the only one watching
these black bruised visions?
poem by Norman Santos
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0030 Your 'My Life' exercise book...
Buy a child's red-covered
'My Exercise Book'
like the one you bought
all those years ago
to build a bridge -
now you realise -
a warm reassuring bridge
between school and home
with its firm hand-rail
at both ends;
the river flowing so fast,
so powerful,
so beautiful
between those different banks
in the blank pages
of that book with its reassuring tables
on the back cover which speak of laws
which you may never read
then with the sharpened pencil
and the smell of cedar flakes
faling from the pencil-sharpener
sweet and haunting to your nose
and breathing heavier now
in this exciting, daunting task,
your head nearer the paper
than old schoolteachers would approve
and pencil gripped as firmly
as you would your life
write so carefully on the first white page
as if the beginning holds the whole story
intended but as yet unfurled,
'My Life'..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stillness In Time (Radio Version)
There's a stillness in time
Which I cannot define
Does your heart bleed like mine (oh does your heart, yeah)
For a place we can go
Where the troubles of our time are far away (hey, they're so far away)
And I had all my life in front of me
Now my darkness days are trouble free
There are so many wonderous things for you to see (hey)
If you find that somethings going wrong
Look around at what your running from
You can wait a thousand years in line
For that stillness in time
(oh, yeah) I found love in that way
And I'm never sad, and I'm always glad
Anything you give me today
I will, will be thankful for (yeah, yeah, yeah)
People find it hard to be strong
Cos they don't know where they're coming from (oooh)
There was nothing left to do but hang on
For that stillness in time
(There's a stillness in time
Search the spaces of my mind)
If this world is turning too fast for your head
Just remember how bad times can roll instead
Yes I have to search the spaces in my mind
For that stillness in time.
(Hey) I feel love in that way
And I'm never sad, and I'm always glad
Ooo, Anything you give me today
I will, will be thankful for
People find it hard to be strong
Cause they don't know where they're coming from
Hey, there was nothing left to do but hang on
For that stillness in time.
Ooo, I know that this is the perfect for a sort of bliss
There is no me, for the love I have will stay the same
I have been wrong if I don't know where I'm coming from
If I proceed the things that are inside of me
All of me, in front of me
Oh, see it's all around me
Said I know, said I want to find that stillness in time
Stillness in time, hey
la, la, la, la, la, lo (repeat until end)
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy For Whatever Had A Pattern In It
Now that the Summer of Love has become the moss of tunnels
And the shadowy mouths of tunnels & all the tunnels lead into the city,
I'm going to put the one largely forgotten, swaying figure of Ediesto Huerta
Right in front of you so you can watch him swamp fruit
Out of an orchard in the heat of an August afternoon, I'm going to let you
Keep your eyes on him as he lifts & swings fifty-pound boxes of late
Elberta peaches up to me where I'm standing on a flatbed trailer & breathing in
Tractor exhaust so thick it bends the air, bends things seen through it
So that they seem to swim through the air.
It is a lousy job, & no one has to do it, & we do it.
We do it so that I can show you even what isn't there,
What's hidden. And signed by Time itself. And set spinning,
And is only a spider, after all, with its net waiting for what falls,
For what flies into it, & ages, & turns gray in a matter of minutes. The web
Is nothing's blueprint, bleached by the sun & whitened by it, it's what's left
After we've vanished, after we become what falls apart when anyone
Touches it, eyelash & collarbone dissolving into air, & time touching
The boxes we are wrapped in like gifts & splintering them
Into wood again, at the edge of a wood.
2
Black Widow is a name no one ever tinkered with or tried to change.
If you turn her on her back you can see the blood red hourglass figure
She carries on her belly,
Small as the design of a pirate I saw once on a tab of blotter acid
Before I took half of it, & a friend took the other, & then the two of us
Walked down to the empty post office beside the lake to look,
For some reason, at the wanted posters. We liked a little drama
In the ordinary then. Now a spider's enough.
And this one, in the legend she inhabits, is famous, & the male dies.
She eats its head after the eggs are fertilized.
It's the hourglass on her belly I remember, & the way the figure of it,
Figure eight of Time & Infinity, looked like something designed,
Etched or embossed upon the slick undershell, & the way there was,
The first time I saw it, a stillness in the pattern that was not
The stillness of the leaves or the stillness of the sky over the leaves.
After the male dies she goes off & the eggs
Live in the fraying sail
Of an abandoned web strung up in the corner of a picking box or beneath
Some slowly yellowing grape leaf among hundreds of other
Leaves, in autumn, the eggs smaller than the o in this typescript
Or a handwritten apostrophe in ink.
What do they represent but emptiness, some gold camp settlement
In the Sierras swept clean by smallpox, & wind?
Canal school with its three rooms, its bell & the rope you rang it with
And no one there in the empty sunlight, ring & after ring & echo.
It magnifies & I can't explain it.
Piedra, Conejo, Parlier. Stars & towns, blown fire & wind.
Deneb & Altair, invisible kindling, nothing above nothing.
It magnifies & I can't explain it.
3
Expressionless spinster, carrying Time's signature preserved & signed
In blood & hidden beneath you, you move two steps
To the right & hold still, then one step to the left,
And hold still again, motionless as the web you wait in.
Motionless as the story you wait in & inhabit but did not spin
And did not repeat. You wait in the beehive hairdo of the girl
Sitting across from me in class, wait in your eggs,
4
Wait in the hair the girl teases & sprays once more at recess.
Lipstick, heels, tight sweater, leather anklet.
The story has no point but stillness itself, absence in a school desk,
The hacked and scratched names visible in the varnished wood,
No one there, the bell with its ring & after ring & echo.
In class, I remember, she would look back at me with a gaze deeper
Than calm, blanker than a pond's scummed & motionless surface,
Beneath which there was nothing, nothing taking the shape of someone
Who had already drowned but could not die, & so sat in class
Because she had to, because that was the law.
Mrs. Avery went on & on at the blackboard so we could know
Who Magellan & Vizcaino had been, or sometimes she would make
The boy who spoke only Spanish read from a book,
Watch him as he used his forefinger to point at each syllable
He would read, read & mispronounce, & stumble over, & go on.
§
And this isn't much of a story either, but it's one I know:
One afternoon in August, two black widow spiders bit Ediesto Huerta.
He killed them both & went on working,
Went on swinging the boxes up to me. In a few minutes the sweat
Bathed his face until it glistened, & still he went on working;
And when I asked him to stop he would not & instead
Seemed to begin to dance slowly in the rhythms of the work,
Swing & heft & turning back for another box, then
Swing, heft, & turning back again. And within a half hour or so,
Without him resting once but merely swinging box after box
Of peaches up to me in the heat, the fever broke.
5
In the middle of turning away again, he stopped dancing,
He stopped working. He seemed to be listening to something, & then
He passed out & fell flat on his back. It looked as if he had gone to sleep
For a moment. I let the idling tractor sputter & die, & by the time
I reached him, he had awakened, &, in the next moment, his face
Began twitching, his arms & legs danced to something without music
And then stiffened, his jaws clenched & his eyes fluttered open
And turned a pure white. I made a stick from a peach limb & tore
The leaves & shoots off it & stuck it between his teeth
As I heard one was supposed to, &, in this way, almost
Killed him by suffocation, & so took the stick out & threw it away.
And later lifted him by the one arm he extended to me & pulled him up onto
The bed of the trailer. He dangled his legs off the rear of it.
We sat there, saying nothing.
It was so quiet we could hear the birds around us in the trees.
And then he turned to me, &, addressing me in a name as old as childhood,
Said, 'Hey Cowboy, you wanna cigarette?'
§
In the story, no one can remember whether it was car theft or burglary,
But in fact, Ediesto Huerta was tried & convicted of something, & so, afterward,
Became motionless & silent in the web spun around him by misfortune.
In the penitentiary the lights stay on forever,
Cell after cell after cell, they call their names out, caught in time.
Ring, & after ring, & echo.
In the story, the girl always dies of spider bites,
When in fact she disappeared by breaking into the jagged pieces of glass
Littering the roadsides & glinting in the empty light that shines there. 6
All we are is representation, what we appear to be & are, & are not,
And representation is all we remember,
Something hesitating & looking back & caught for a moment.
God in the design on a spider's belly, standing for time & infinity,
Looks back, looks back just once, then never again.
We go without a trace, I am thinking. We go & there's no one there,
No one to meet us on the long drive lined with orange trees,
Cypresses, the bleaching fronds of palm trees,
And though the town is still there when I return to it, when I'm gone
The track is empty beside the station, & the station is boarded up,
Boarded over, the town is overgrown with leaves, with weeds
Tall as windowsills, window glass out & dark inside the shops.
The classrooms & school are gone & the bell, & the rope
To ring it with, & the boy reading form the book, forefinger
On a syllable he can't pronounce & stumbles over again & again.
§
All we are is representation, what we are & are not,
Clear & then going dark again, all we are
Is the design or insignia that misrepresents what we are, & stays
Behind, & looks back at us without expression, empty road in sunlight.
I once drove in a '48 Jimmy truck with three tons of fruit
On it & the flooring beneath the clutch so worn away I could see
The road go past beneath me, the oil flecked light & shadow
Picking up speed. Angel & Johnny Dominguez, Ediesto Huerta,
Jaime Vaca & Coronado Solares, Querido Flacco
7
And the one called Dead Rat & the one called Camelias;
We go without a trace, I am thinking.
§
Today you were lying in bed, drinking tea, reading the newspaper,
A look of concentration on your face, of absorption in some
Story or other.
It looked so peaceful, you reading, the bed, the sunlight over everything.
There is a blueprint of something never finished, something I'll never
Find my way out of, some web where the light rocks, back & forth,
Holding me in a time that's gone, bee at the windowsill & the cold
Coming back as it has to, tapping at the glass.
The figure in the hourglass & the body swinging in the rhythm of its work.
The body reclining in bed, forgetting what it is, & who.
While the night goes on with its work, the stars & the shapes they make,
Cold vein in the leaf & in the wind,
What are we but what we offer up?
Gifts we give, things for oblivion to look at, & puzzle over, & set aside.
Oblivion resting his cheek against a child's striped rubber ball
In the photograph I have of him, head on the table & resting his cheek
Against the cool surface of the ball, the one that is finished spinning, the one
He won't give back.
Oblivion who has my face in the photograph, my cheek resting
Against a child's striped ball.
Oblivion with his blown fires, & empty towns...
Oblivion who would be nothing without us, I am thinking,
8
As if we're put on the earth to forget the ending, & wander.
And walk alone. And walk in the midst of great crowds,
And never come back.
poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where's My Inspiration?
I can not think.
My mind is at a gridlock.
Where’s my inspiration?
Boredom is highly overwhelming,
But then I think,
“A poem about boredom! ”
Stupid, huh?
But still,
I-can-not- think.
Where’s my inspiration?
I lie on my bed,
Mind empty.
I stare at the ceiling,
At the blank white wall.
Then I stare at my paper,
A blank white canvas.
But then I look closer
It isn’t blank.
It’s filled with lines,
And not just any lines,
BLUE lines.
They aren’t even solid either.
With closer inspection,
They are dotted.
Some even have breaks in them.
Well,
Look at that.
I’ve found my inspiration.
“What is it? ” You may think.
To tell the truth it’s nothing special.
My inspiration came from everywhere around me.
My closed mind soon opened up and spoke to my hand.
It’s funny how the mind works,
Don’t you agree?
poem by Devon McElveen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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