3h
this is the nook
some of the words here
are pleasing
prostitutes
they are all well dressed
for the occasion
of loneliness
but they know how to give
the best of
what is here
we toast for thoughts
we murmur the metaphors
all products of
our drunkenness
we shake hands with the
hands of ideas that
we know for the first
time
exist
the dancers are naked
we watch and gaze
we salivate
as they paginate
this is a soft bound world
cheap and
papery
dusts abound because it
cannot be read
the spiders make their homes here
weaving lies....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Have The Touch
The time I like is the rush hour, cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people - I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion - do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and ... I have the touch
Im waiting for ignition, Im looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare ... I have the touch
Wanting contact
Im wanting contact
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Any social occasion, its hello, how do you do
All those introductions, I never miss my cue
So before a question, so before a doubt
My hand moves out and ... I have the touch
Wanting contact
Im wanting contact
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back - but nothing seems
To please
I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have The Touch
The time I like is the rush hour, cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people, I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion, do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and ... I have the touch
Im waiting for ignition, Im looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare ... I have the touch
Only, only
Wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake hands, shake hands.
Any social occasion, hello, how do you do
All those introductions, I never miss my cue
So before a question, so before a doubt
My hand moves out and ... I have the touch
Only, only
Wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands
Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, the tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back, but nothing seems to please
I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
Tac-tacatac, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
Tac-tacatac, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Ah, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
I need contact.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A World Of Our Own...
there are other ways
many ways in fact
to create worlds,
some do it in hiding
the world is a corner
a nook of few clutters
some make another ocean
inside their cupped hands
when i talk to myself
when everyone else leaves
for their own homes
on delicate whispers of the
heart
i have too
a world of words
my own
home
on some but few
syllables...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Metaphor Is Easy To Make
a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall
remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea
remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying
remember time in a bottle
remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly
remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain
just like that
remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end
loneliness
life is like that
you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose
, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose
mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry
good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry
it does not matter
give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings
you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors
so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man
make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions
make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,
bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors
and you are happy
they do not understand a thing
and they will believe that you are God.
for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it
unquestionable.
let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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36
a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall
remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea
remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying
remember time in a bottle
remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly
remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain
just like that
remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end
loneliness
life is like that
you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose
, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose
mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry
good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry
it does not matter
give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings
you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors
so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man
make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions
make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,
bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors
and you are happy
they do not understand a thing
and they will believe that you are God.
for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it
unquestionable.
let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Please Be True To Our Mutual Lies
please be true
to these mutual lies
as we lie
and kiss
and roll
and make such a quick love
do not make any moans
or calls
do not not kiss and tell
do not
be too possessive of my
body
my soul
my mind
these hands are strong
and so warm
you know, when these hands hold you tight
you know
these are not just yours
you know
these hands love you too like how these hands love
the rest of you, my all true loves
and them
they may not believe us
true to our lies
protective of ten fingers loving many lovely women
all worthy of my strong loving hands
my hands are made of ten fingers
there is no way that
these hands can be monogamous
you love me so true
and you would not have the folly to tell me that i have not loved
and loved you well enough
we must both be polygamous, and we must tell the world
we are true and we exist.
we lie because the truth is they are nor prepared for what they are too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Hands
Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Private Property
You think you're cool and got it all
You think you run the scene
I don't believe how you'd concieve
That your good enough for me
You think you've got it all sewn up
But I'll cut you right down to size
The way I figure you dont exist
So you'd better realize
Don't you touch
Don't get near
Don't take me for a fool
Make no mistake
No give and take
I'm too good for you
So keep your hands off
Private property
Hands off
Oh Oh
Keep your hands off
Private property
Hands off me
Hands off
Keep your hands off me
I'm number one when I turn it on
Do you think you can relate
You'd be amazed
song performed by by Judas Priest from Turbo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Un - Me - Ing ‘i’
I want to shake them off,
weird thoughts,
like a swarm of bees,
buzzing, whining, aimed at nothing.
Want to write me off?
Loneliness. I
observe the hands of a watch
looks like they are not moving.
Time stands still.
Waits for me to move.
An atavistic ache.
Again I view the world.
Every body is making a sound without bending.
With dreams dead I step into emptiness
barefoot, to feel the earth.
Not going to quit,
free to kill my ghost
I move into sunlight.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everyday Is A Poem To Me
the people i love
and talk to, in some ways, do not talk
candidly, perhaps because of too much love, not really unspoken
because they want to hide it,
it is just because, i know, there are no exact words
to describe
what they feel,
it is
the same with me, feelings thriving but the inability to speak
is there, and so we use such symbols as a touch
of the hand
or a blush on the cheek, or some fingers landing at the back
of our soft skins
one need not say what longing and loving is
the lips have more to say
in fact, than the words coming from the mouth
or the mere
laying of her head on my shoulders
oh, the hug and that gaze and the clasping of my hands
to her hands,
such sensitivity that makes us feel
every rising of the hair
not in fear, but in the absence of letters fit
for the feeling
breakfast together
and then the parting and meeting again
tonight
they are all metaphors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The End Of The Rainbow
As long as I remember
Weve marched across this land
Oh, oh
Reached for a new horizon
Pulled by the killing hand
Oh, oh
All fed up with lies
The time has come
To break these chains and fly
Here we stand, bound forevermore
Were out of this world, until the end
Here we are, mighty, glorious
At the end of the rainbow
With gold in our hands
We know the treasure lies
Beyond the pouring rain
Oh, oh
Our quest will last forever
For you its all the same
Oh, oh
No one can deny
Our futures set
To reach above the sky
Here we stand, bound forevermore
Were out of this world, until the end
Here we are, mighty, glorious
At the end of the rainbow
With gold in our hands
Lets fly away through the rain
Fly high, to ease the burning pain
Oh, the colours fading out
The light is shining in the night
Its up to you, its worth the fight
Search before the colours fade
Here we stand bound forevermore
Were out of this world, until the end
Here we are, mighty, glorious
At the end of the rainbow
With gold in our hands
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is The Game We Play
we have letters,
we spread them in our thoughts
and we form words, sometimes we like these words
to be not understood that so easily, to make a little suspense
of our game of words,
and we utter some words sometimes, so sweet sounding
our saliva pours from our mouths,
honey tasting words, a la black forest cakes,
we go beyond eating and licking and savoring,
we form words of love,
(setting aside for a while the evident
lust)
we play this game too well
no one gets hurt
plain sheets of white linen
we spread our naked bodies
we put words
using our tongues as hands
caressing hands
this is just a game of words
why do you palpitate that much?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Times I Have
At times I have happy ideas,
Ideas suddenly happy, in among ideas
And the words in which they naturally shake free...
After writing, I read...
What made me write that?
Where have I been to find that?
Where did that come to me from? It is better than me...
Shall we have been, in the world, at the most, pen and ink
With which somebody writes properly what we here jot?...
poem by Fernando Pessoa from The Collected Poems of Álvaro de Campos (1934)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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1. One
I am trying to find my poetic rhythm.
Pen my flow of thoughts.
Words running through my mind,
Ideas running through my mind.
Incoherent, Scattered and disjointed
I am trying to make words and ideas one
Create a world of words, in this world of chaos
Words running from one end
Ideas running from one end
On a path of collision
Ideas and words unite, one
One, the beginning
One, the universal beginning
One, the number of the gods
One, my first poem
poem by Anand Dixit
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A Stalemate
I do not give thanks to the hands that feed me
I work for those
Hands anyway
Writing his letters
His own contents
Not to my delight
I love somebody else, her hands are soft
Her thoughts so graceful
Touching me
Penetrating the deepest recesses of my brain
My soul jumps with joy
To the sight of her,
She eats me, I am half-consumed yet I
Sing of her
Kiss her all day
Yet what does she give me?
This death unto myself,
The hands that feed me caress me to no end
Helping me live, I understand this kindness perfectly
How I wish to love the feeding hands
How I wish to reeducate myself & learn to live on these hands
I am hardheaded, as always thinking about her all day all night long.
The heart has its own foolish reasons, while the feeding hands
Are patient, and silent, understanding my true longings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Sleep Yet...
do not sleep yet
for i am sad and like all the sad people of this world
i need a little time
to keep me company
talk
talk to me
whatever that be
i may listen and look at every word that you utter
as some butterflies or bees
or flowers on the foot of those green hills
breasts of some mountains
thighs of some river banks
soft hands of the creeks
bellies of the valleys
i want to imagine the anatomy of nature
like they are all naked women
and you shall think of me as the lusting sun
licking all those
tasting everyone
do not sleep yet
i need to look at your words as flowers
for now my intentions are honest
pure as gold without the bones
of adulteration
soft and yellow
shaped by the gentleness of your hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Convivial Book - Ye've Often, For Our Drunkenness,
Blamed us in ev'ry way,
And, in abuse of drunkenness,
Enough can never say.
Men, overcome by drunkenness,
Are wont to lie till day;
And yet I find my drunkenness
All night-time make me stray;
For, oh! 'tis Love's sweet drunkenness
That maketh me its prey,
Which night and day, and day and night,
My heart must needs obey,--
A heart that, in its drunkenness,
Pours forth full many a lay,
So that no trifling drunkenness
Can dare assert its sway.
Love, song, and wine's sweet drunkenness,
By night-time and by day,--
How god-like is the drunkenness
That maketh me its prey!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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