3: 36 A.m.
just doing something
that touches
the deeper part of the
marrow of my bone
the spirit is alive
the body is weak
there are questions
popping up like
mushrooms after
a rainy night
you ponder upon each
shape and color
round and pale and
expanding
and still tough like
a question begging for
an answer
there is this emptiness
that even a poem
at dusk cannot fill
it exists and its duty
is not to disappear
it enters your heart
and makes its home there
God says
he dwells there as well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Too Tough To Die
I am a tu tu tu tu tu tu tu tu tough tough guy
I tell no tales I do no lie
I am a tu tu tu tu tu tu tu tu tough tough guy
halo round my head to tough to die
main attraction in a freak side show
down in the basement where the cobwebs grow
on my last leg just gettin' by
halo round my head too tough to die
rainy days rain cool wine
I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine
hot sweat on my face
I feel like going' out someplace
up late at night my chocolate sweet
down at the gym where the muscle boys meet
I am a very nice guy very sincere
in real good shape I have no fear
at the concert when the band comes on
I am in the ring where I belong
on my last leg just gettin' by
halo round my head too tough to die
song performed by by Ramones from Too Tough To Die
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Answer To My Question Was A Question
His answer to my question
Was a question
My answer to his reply
Was returned
With another question
The game of
Answering and asking
Questions
Did not end
Till I questioned
The very motive
Of our conversation
We came to the conclusion
How to pass time?
Was the biggest question
Asking questions
And creating confusion
Was the answer
So we passed our time
Asking and answering questions
The question now is
Whether we did right or wrong?
The answer is
Why ask a useless question?
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Shape Me Like A Man
Spark my body into existence
Breath your life into me
Fill these eyes with temptation
Work your mystery
Make me in the image you desire
Raise me up from the earth
Let me be your creation
Women, give me birth
Take me in your hands
And shape me like a man
Shape me like a man
Put this broken body in motion
With a strong and natural drive
Fill my flesh with sensation
Women let me know Im alive
Take me in your hands
And shape me like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Take me in your hands
And shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Make me like a man
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's Physiology
God's visible and invisible glow both is round and finite
God's body resembles human body
But It has no sexual organ and ass-hole
Everything that exists has shape and mass
Creations are inseparable part of God
But insignificant
If we compare it to amount of God's mass
God is sometimes called shapeless
Because we are unable to give God a shape
In drawing and sculpture
Due to His extremely sophisticated structure
He is everything that exists
Creations as a whole is like a tuft of God's hair
That He has cut off and spread inside His glow
God assumes that there's nothing out there
Outside God's glow
The edges of God's glow is invisible and dark to God
And
His assumption is absolutely correct
Because if there were something
It would merge with God because of God's Gravity
In brief
God is One, Undivided, Alive, Everlasting and Unique.
poem by Asif Andalib
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A Home For Me....
i have not met someone who says that this is clean.
the majority says, it is filthy and must be thrown away.
i know others keep it, hide it inside their hearts and
lives with it like the way one accepts a disease, like the
way you take something unclean as part of your daily routine.
i have to be honest, i am one of those that keep a secret.
this secret makes my heart sing with the wind, lifts my spirit
to the sky, makes those dead in me alive again, and i hear someone
saying, ' why should something which makes me alive be so wrong? '
i travel inward, i set aside rules, i have questions for the makers
of history, i am challenging the norms, the fences of traditions,
and like a prisoner, i find solace in the darkness of the night
when the guards are asleep and dreaming, i escape.
i go beyond the borders of an old country and try the untrodden
paths of the new land, sail the one still not on the map and
arrive there without any longing of going back home.
when i land there, and see the forests, i shall name it home.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Couple Of Weeks
What makes a man weak
What makes a man strong
What makes him consider
The first or the latter
What he’s lost
what he’s won
If it all ever really mattered
There’s something about a biopsy
That can cause a man
to ponder
Over all the things he has
And what he’s done
And what’s over the horizon
Yonder
Waiting can do that
To a conflicted man, it’s truth
Makes him conjure up answers
To questions he seeks
Makes him know he’ll have answers
To at least some of the questions
Within a couple of weeks
poem by David Whalen
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Always Asking Questions
We all want peace we dont want misery
So many of us wont let us be these things
But we only are confused
We feel stronger as we grow older
But still we feel bemused
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
And the temptation is to just step back
Well we give what we lack
We will always be asking questions
Why rich?
Why poor?
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking
Dont stop asking
Dont stop asking questions
Always asking questions
In answer to this question is just shut up
You dont know
I dont know
Nobody knows
This is an answer to every question
This is a place to begin
Always asking questions
Always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Words: william bryant
Music: howard jones
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Games of cruelty
The question was crying in the corner
In spasm fingers casting
Delivery pains of questions
In a trembling body revealing
Tremors of a curse and grief
In fearful eyesight hiding
The loss of peace and hope
In shivering breasts beating
The loss of love and mourning
On frozen shoulders carrying
The landing of rainy wet wings
In an outstretched whisper begging
‘Please, let go of my hand'
The answer was laughing out loud
‘I am just yes or no
But who asked you anything? '
2010.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Another Rainy Day In New York City
Another rainy day in new york city
Softly sweet, so silently it falls
As crosstown traffic crawls
Memories in my way in new york city
Tender, tough, too tragic to be true
And nothing I can do
City workers cheer
The taxis disappear
Another rainy day in new york city
Another spacey stay in new york city
High up in an overpriced hotel
The view is really swell
Windy, wet and gray in new york city
No one here I really want to see
Old friends and family
So suddenly serene
The air is fresh and clean
Another rainy day in new york city
Its another rainy day
Just a rainy, rainy day
Its another rainy day
Just a rainy, rainy day
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Face Value
For seeing your eyes, the sun is shining
For looking your hairs, the moon is brighting
Your nose is likely a little summit,
Which touches my soul like the heart-beat.
There is no question about your mouth,
Which is smiling continously without any doubt.
Your cheeks are more sweet than the cream of ice,
Which makes me alive.
Your face is most beautiful in the universe,
This poem is only for my love...
poem by Kumarjeet Basu
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The Coffee Stain
The coffee stain imprinted on the page
of notebook paper I'm writing on right now
reminds me of your eyes—
dark, brown spirals cycling around
the pale blue lines that separate
my thoughts; the spacious white
that causes me to recall the downy
purity of the god[ess] I'd
forgotten somewhere. Though
it's just a fragment of a circle,
the roundness dissipating as it lifts,
the image remains, and the imperfections
that sink down beside the words I jot into the
sheets go far deeper than
these scribbles, discoloring the emptiness
further than I know how to admit. And I—
remembering your shape, the way you see, looking
through it— am happy, am awake—
by a jolt of reminiscent caffeine and an embrace that
kindles all tomorrow's pages— and I
am content to ponder of what is
or was or what could've been, letting it all soak as
I start to question what will be.
Que sera, sera.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Are You All Right?
They keep asking me this question
I don't know how to answer
They say it again
And I still don't have an answer
Really, what do you say to that
I could say I'm fine, but that would be a lie
I could say everything, but then they would keep asking me questions
Questions i couldn't answer
That's when I simply smile and walk away
The question that's always asked, but never answered
Are you all right?
That's for you to decide
(2-21-05)
poem by Brandi Young
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Deeper, Dig Deeper
Deeper, dig deeper
Deeper, deeper, dig, dig, deeper, deeper
Get a little closer
You dont have to be afraid
You have to trust your inner pilot
Dont let it drift away
Dig a little deeper
You gotta get it in your soul
Reach out with your spirit
And let your feelings show
Deeper, deeper, dig, dig, deeper, deeper
You cant deny the feeling
That touches you inside
When youre tired and lonely
You dont have to lose your pride.
Take the time to listen
Stay a little while
Got a song to sing for you
Let the music get you higher, higher.
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will I Have A Poem Tonight?
WILL I HAVE A POEM TONIGHT?
Will I have a poem tonight?
Or will tiredness take me to bed
Without an answer?
Will I be able to find within myself
Some sounds of meaning
Some hint of beauty?
Something deeper than the darkness outside
As real as the longing within?
The poem which is written about the poem which is not
Is the poem which is written about the poem which is
And the poem which is
Is tonight the poem of the night
And the poem of the night tonight
Is the poem this poem is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Loving Our Bodies But Only For A Time
i shudder on a possible answer
on the question of
what is it that really makes me desire you?
the temporary and quick answer of course
is your body,
those hands, that hair, those legs, that skin,
i have touched you and it is so good,
but i am worried for how long shall this answer satisfy me
time is staring at me and gives me that quizzical look
of fading and waving
that undulating shape of existence that soon surrenders
to reality
this reality of passing, this change,
this moving away, those leaves that fall and rot and become nothing
but another layer of insignificant ground,
and i shudder again to the next question, as i prepare for the shudder
of my next answer,
i am terrified at last, finding out
that there is nothing in you that is worth loving at all,
that i am but trapped in my body, trapped also into your own body
and we are in this same prison for quite a time
the seasons give us keys of awakening
there is finally nothing in us that is lovable at all
and we see it now, as we glimpse upon the veiled face of
the incoming death
we were fooled, we know that,
but it does not matter now, we have learned and by all means
we are ready to go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Only One Spirit To Follow
Peace, says the young Believer, while there is no peace in his heart,
And when he's in a throng of True Believers, he only wants to depart.
If you're walking with The Lord, peace and joy will fill your heart,
But Satan attacks a half-hearted Christian and tears his peace apart.
Satan like a hungry lion, stalks Christians who question why believe,
He fills them with questions and doubts as he continues to deceive.
God sends only one Spirit that will fill you with security and peace,
But Satan uses many spirits to fill you with uncertainty and deceit.
God starts by sending The Holy Spirit to lead one to truly believe,
Satan follows to snatch The Truth with taunting spirits to deceive.
God then sends The Holy Spirit with submission to help you to abide,
Satan quickly whispers independence, to begin filling you with pride.
God sends The Holy Spirit with contentment to say I know your need,
Satan quickly sows some discontentment to fill your heart with greed.
God sends The Holy Spirit with gentleness to show you how to be meek,
Satan quickly lies and says The Truth will simply make you look weak.
Satan turns you from The Lord to fill you with the world's mystique.
This deception will continue until its The Lord you desire to seek,
God sent His Son Jesus to fill you with peace throughout your days,
But my dear friend a double-minded man is unstable in all his ways,
(Copyright © 03/2003)
When You Read This Poem
when you read this poem
silently like a prayer written
on the wall
of an ancient structure
and then when you pause
upon a word and begin
to ponder
like ' what is this poem really
trying to say? '
or ' does this poem have in some
way something to inform me
or touch me
or simply waste my time? '
rest assured this poem has
made you phrase some questions
not about you
or about me alone but
whether you believe it or not
this poem has become
a bridge between us
taking the shape
of a rainbow between two islands
and in a moment before you
begin to figure it out
or even know it
it is gone like a sigh passing you by
without any significance
and not worth remembering
but once
after you have read till the end
once there was this poem
and it seems to have no meaning at all
except a task
a journey that you have taken
arriving at nowhere
and giving you the essence of nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Does The Night Have A Poem?
DOES THE NIGHT HAVE A POEM?
Does the Night have a poem?
Is there anything worth saying now?
To hear the Quiet is a kind of poem,
But I do not know-
The Night says the Wind now,
But is a small breeze enough
To make Heart and Mind
Come to Life again?
The Night is silent now
And Darkness is no answer either.
Night, Quiet, Sound, Light, Love,
The Beauty of simply being alive.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Question
I don't have the answer
So why ask me, why?
Why do you ask me a question
When there is no reply?
As though the answer was this?
Did you know all along?
That so much space
Is weighed down in white silence
Who told you these things?
These imagined replies?
To the unanswered question
The question why?
There is no reply
But bad weather
Rough roads
There is no reply
Leave the rain alone
There is no reply
No reply
No answer to why
Leave the question alone
No face in the sky
No key to the door
No there is nothing, but nothing
So leave nothing alone
And turn round and go home
Watch the sea from your window
The waves rise and fall
Nothing but madness
And nothing at all! !
The moon's silver crescent
No time to recall
What is left
What is deaf
What is blind
To ritual?
To sign?
There's no pattern no season
No face in the wall
No reason too reasonable
To make no sense at all!
There is no reply
To pain
Love lost
To prayer
Why ask me these questions?
When there's no answer there?
yvette m smith july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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A Simple Question
'While I am asking questions which You do not answer, You ask me a question which is so simple that I cannot answer. I do not even understand the question.' Thomas Merton, A Merton Reader,
'And He continued by questioning them, ‘But who do you say that I am? '' Mark 8: 29
Clear day
golden sky
gives way to
black clouds
and I ask,
'why? '
It's a child's question.
Within cities
hard edges, pavements
grey receive the red
tide, heads fall
and lives split open,
spill into
gutters fill,
sewers, fill
the sea,
and like a
persistent child
I ask 'why? '
In the morning
through bright
windows I see how
spring leans
to summer, timid
leaves open wide
glow in silver light
and green fire
fills the wood,
and by this beauty
silenced,
I hear
in tones
beyond my hearing
a simple question;
'who? '
but I cannot answer;
I do not
know.
poem by Steven Federle
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