5: 31a.m.
i am again listening to the sound
of the cock crowing
the silence of the jalousie window
still closed from the morning light
the faint sound of the radio in
the kitched where the housemaid does
the cooking and the cleaning
the sound of the broom
cleaning the garage and the sliding
of the rags wiping the car
the little brown dog arrives
from a kitchen door that just opened
letting it in and here it comes
as i write this
licking my lap and wagging
its short tail
i am feeling like i am the master
of my world and i am not letting
it go like some sand slipping
through my fingers
i will take a bite of my own day
like the way i take the slice
of the sweet papaya
laid on a glass table
beside a toasted sandwich
a slice of bacon and a hot
black brewed coffee.
inside a chocolate porcelain cup.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Is letting go a metaphor?
what is letting go -
letting go of grief?
the serenity of letting go?
(must be a bad metaphor)
losing represents letting go of control
I need to understand this 'letting go'
is it a metaphor for facing the inevitable?
breathing as a metaphor for living
'the practice of pruning wine vines'
is that a metaphor for letting go?
surrender. reaching towards the future
if you'll excuse another bad metaphor...
'the last of the sand is pouring...'
onion metaphors are stripped down to the core
letting go is a metaphor for acceptance
is acceptance a metaphor for failure?
'The freedom of letting go'
that does sound grand
letting go is not for the faint-hearted
my hands and heart are tired from letting go
so many times over
examine why metaphor is not
a substitute for the literal
letting go is
a metaphor
for goodbye
110709
poem by Terri Turrell
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Sunrise's Entrance
sunrise is such a lady
with a fashion sense
clad in rays of light
slim between the
shadows of the trees
jeweled with diamond
warm like a lover's hand
sunrise dramatically
arrives full of hope for
another brand new day
there is a fruit tray by the
window
five shiny red apples
there is a base of white
magnolias inside a
golden vase by
the window
there is breakfast on the
table: smiling fried egg
tasty hot dogs, pearl white
rice, brewed coffee and
a slice of ripe yellow mango.
poetry in bliss
music from the breeze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letting go of the bad and showing the world who i am
I am tired of feeling hurt
I am tired of feeling used
I am tired of feeling unworth
I am letting go of you
I am letting go of pain
I am letting go of shame
I am letting go of darkness
I am letting go of bitterness
I am letting go of all the bad and only waiting for the good
I am taking in the light and coming out from underneath my hood
I will show the world my eyes and my smile
I am showing the world My laughter and ability to be wild
I am showing the world its wrong and that I will go on
I am showing the world I am in control
I am showing the world all the things i'm letting go
I am showing the world my joy and my tears
I am showing the world my screams and my fears
I am showing the world who i am and where I've been
I am showing the world all that i can
I will show the world who i am inside and out
I will show the world i don't care if its me they talk about
poem by Jean Pullman
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The Sadness of The Empty Home
The light flickers on
Illuminates the empty hallway
The thud, click of a door in closing
Brings a silence to the room
A heavy sigh escapes
A look to the mirror sees only
Tired eyes looking back
A bag lain upon the small table
The light turned back off
On route to yet another room
Light creeps through the window
Allowing enough to see
The sound of a running tap
Filling the kettle for a final drink
Keys thrown upon a side
The clatter of cups and spoons
Then further silence
Now the creaking of a staircase
Another door opened
Another light flicked on
The curtains drawn to the world
Drink set beside the bed
The silence of the empty home
Fills the heart with loneliness
A television switched into life
Nothing worth watching
Just a sound there to fill
The silence and the sadness
Of the empty home
poem by Matthew Holloway
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a Poem Of Silence
Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.
Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.
not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.
silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?
I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
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The Sound Of Silence....
it speaks no words,
yet they fall on the soul..
quietly falls on the heart so heavy,
pain wrapped, the words of silence....
filth and grime,
pure and honest,
the words do a medley of sorts,
ever felt the sound of silence..
the world pulls down,
the dust seems sticking,
tears entrapped in the soul,
commotion in the worldly shows.
what's life? regret, remorse..
the dull light always burning,
resonating from inside,
try listening, the sound of silence...
the voice screams,
it brings the truth,
momentarily, the pain halts,
with the tasting of the salt.
ironical the world is,
contradiction filled...
sounds stupid, but true,
the sound of silence...
befriend silence,
redemption u find...
the lost answers,
u will find.
sound, so enthralling,
sound, so enigmatic..
yet so healing, , ,
the sound of silence..
poem by Nupur Singhal
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Radio Head
Baby your mind is a radio
Got a reciever inside my head
Baby Im tuned to your wavelength
Lemme tell you what it says:
Transmitter!
Oh! picking up something good
Hey, radio head!
The sound...of a brand-new world.
So look at my fingers vibrate
From their tip down down to my toes
Now Im recieving your signal
Were gonna leave the land of noise
Transmitter!
Oh! picking up something good
Hey, radio head!
The sound...of a brand-new world.
Transmitter!
Oh! picking up something good
Hey, radio head!
The sound...of a brand-new world.
Now you and I have no secrets
Now baby, lemme read your mind
I hear evrything youre thinking
You cant help the way you sound
Transmitter!
Picking up something good.
Hey! radio head!
The sound...of a brand-new world
Oh! radio head
Radio head
Radio head
Radio head
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For The Happy Housemaid...
early morning
the housemaid turns on the radio
in full volume that the
neighbors know that
she is already awake
and cooking breakfast
the house smells fried
egg and bacon and
steamed rice
when i come out my room
she smiles and
turns off the radio and
says that breakfast is
ready
only to be told that
no one likes to eat breakfast
(unlike the two the housemaid
likes it much to eat all these matters
alone by herself,
she is attuned like a loud radio
early morning
and she does not mind what
the housemaids' neighbors say)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chocolate Cake
I love chocolate cake.
And when I was a boy
I loved it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it for tea
and Mum used to say,
'If there's any left over
you can have it to take to school
tomorrow to have at playtime.'
And the next day I would take it to school
wrapped up in tin foil
open it up at playtime
and sit in the corner of the playground
eating it,
you know how the icing on top
is all shiny and it cracks as you
bite into it,
and there's that other kind of icing in
the middle
and it sticks to your hands and you
can lick your fingers
and lick your lips
oh it's lovely.
yeah.
Anyway,
once we had this chocolate cake for tea
and later I went to bed
but while I was in bed
I found myself waking up
licking my lips
and smiling.
I woke up proper.
'The chocolate cake.'
It was the first thing
1 thought of.
I could almost see it
so I thought,
what if I go downstairs
and have a little nibble, yeah?
It was all dark
everyone was in bed
so it must have been really late
but I got out of bed,
crept out of the door
there's always a creaky floorboard, isn't there?
Past Mum and Dad's room,
careful not to tread on bits of broken toys
or bits of Lego
you know what it's like treading on Lego
with your bare feet,
yowwww
shhhhhhh
downstairs
into the kitchen
open the cupboard
and there it is
all shining.
So I take it out of the cupboard
put it on the table
and I see that
there's a few crumbs lying about on the plate,
so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs
scooping them up
and put them into my mouth.
oooooooommmmmmmmm
nice.
Then
I look again
and on one side where it's been cut,
it's all crumbly.
So I take a knife
I think I'll just tidy that up a bit,
cut off the crumbly bits
scoop them all up
and into the mouth
oooooommm mmmm
nice.
Look at the cake again.
That looks a bit funny now,
one side doesn't match the other
I'll just even it up a bit, eh?
Take the knife
and slice.
This time the knife makes a little cracky noise
as it goes through that hard icing on top.
A whole slice this time,
into the mouth.
Oh the icing on top
and the icing in the middle
ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm.
But now
I can't stop myself
Knife -
1 just take any old slice at it
and I've got this great big chunk
and I'm cramming it in
what a greedy pig
but it's so nice,
and there's another
and another and I'm squealing and I'm smacking my lips
and I'm stuffing myself with it
and
before I know
I've eaten the lot.
The whole lot.
I look at the plate.
It's all gone.
Oh no
they're bound to notice, aren't they,
a whole chocolate cake doesn't just disappear
does it?
What shall 1 do?
I know. I'll wash the plate up,
and the knife
and put them away and maybe no one
will notice, eh?
So I do that
and creep creep creep
back to bed
into bed
doze off
licking my lips
with a lovely feeling in my belly.
Mmmmrnmmmmm.
In the morning I get up,
downstairs,
have breakfast,
Mum's saying,
'Have you got your dinner money?'
and I say,
'Yes.'
'And don't forget to take some chocolate cake with you.'
I stopped breathing.
'What's the matter,' she says,
'you normally jump at chocolate cake?'
I'm still not breathing,
and she's looking at me very closely now.
She's looking at me just below my mouth.
'What's that?' she says.
'What's what?' I say.
'What's that there?'
'Where?'
'There,' she says, pointing at my chin.
'I don't know,' I say.
'It looks like chocolate,' she says.
'It's not chocolate is it?'
No answer.
'Is it?'
'I don't know.'
She goes to the cupboard
looks in, up, top, middle, bottom,
turns back to me.
'It's gone.
It's gone.
You haven't eaten it, have you?'
'I don't know.'
'You don't know. You don't know if you've eaten a whole
chocolate cake or not?
When? When did you eat it?'
So I told her,
and she said
well what could she say?
'That's the last time I give you any cake to take
to school.
Now go. Get out
no wait
not before you've washed your dirty sticky face.'
I went upstairs
looked in the mirror
and there it was,
just below my mouth,
a chocolate smudge.
The give-away.
Maybe she'll forget about it by next week.
poem by Michael Rosen
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Radio Radio
I was tuning in the shine on the light night dial
Doing anything my radio advised
With every one of those late night stations
Playing songs bringing tears to me eyes
I was seriously thinking about hiding the receiver
When the switch broke cause its old
Theyre saying things that I can hardly believe.
They really think were getting out of control.
Radio is a sound salvation
Radio is cleaning up the nation
They say you better listen to the voice of reason
But they dont give you any choice
cause they think that its treason.
So you had better do as you are told.
You better listen to the radio.
I wanna bite the hand that feeds me.
I wanna bite that hand so badly.
I want to make them wish theyd never seen me.
Some of my friends sit around every evening
And they worry about the times ahead
But everybody else is overwhelmed by indifference
And the promise of an early death
You either shut up or get cut up;
They dont wanna hear about it.
Its only inches on the reel-to-reel.
And the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools
Tryin to anaesthetise the way that you feel
[chorus]
Wonderful radio
Marvelous radio
Wonderful radio
Radio, radio...
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Window
Open the window's
On the home
New air and light
Come with you...
The sun
The moon
Birds sound
working sound
speaking sound
t.v.radio sound
Around all are
Come and speak to you...
you are ready to
Open the home window?
You are did not
Open the window
your home only
Silint...
But; you are a
Very vailent....! !
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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Turn Off The World
Got to pull it up
Got to pull it out
Got to survive
Got to stay calm
Got to think fast
Dont want to burn
Searching for a door
Searching for a way
Out of this thing
I dont know whats wrong
Dont know what to do
Im out of control
Nothing I can do
Nothing seems to work
Im barely alive
Got to slow it down
Got to do something
Or give in
Watching us fall
Trying everything
Fighting for life
Running out of time
I dont have a choice
Im riding it in
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
This is the fear
This is nothing like
You could believe
Panic in my heart
Like a cold hand
Pulling at strings
Ill do anything
Even pray to god
Just let me out
Turn off the machine
Turn off all the noise
Turn off the world
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
You learn fast when everything breaks down
You learn fast when thats all that you can do
You learn fast or nothing
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2: 53 A.m.
loudest is the sound of the
cock crowing
though far from this house
of hay
it cannot hear us somehow
on another cock crowing
on your hands
of cotton
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sound of the Sun
It makes one all right, though you hadn't thought of it,
A sound like the sound of the sky on fire, like Armageddon,
Whistling and crackling, the explosions of sunlight booming
As the huge mass of gas rages into the emptiness around it.
It isn't a sound you are often aware of, though the light speeds
To us in seconds, each dawn leaping easily across a chasm
Of space that swallows the sound of that sphere, but
If you listen closely some morning, when the sun swells
Over the horizon and the world is still and still asleep,
You might hear it, a faint noise so far inside your mind
That it must come from somewhere, from light rushing to darkness,
Energy burning towards entropy, towards a peaceful solution,
Burning brilliantly, spontaneously, in the middle of nowhere,
And you, too, must make a sound that is somewhat like it,
Though that, of course, you have no way of hearing at all.
poem by George Bradley
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True
True
So true
Funny how it seems
Always in time, but never in line for dreams
Head over heels,when toe to toe
This is the sound of my soul
This is the sound
I bought a ticket to the world
But now Ive come back again
Why do I find it hard to write the next line
When I want the truth to be said
I know this much is true
With a thrill in my head an a pill on my tongue
Dissolve the nerves that have just begun
Listening to marvin all night long
This is the sound of my soul
This is the sound
Always slipping from my hands
Sands a time of ts own
Take your seaside arms and write the next line
Oh I want the truth to be known
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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3: 33 A.m.
i waited for this moment
and it has come, this awakening,
of your mind, you and i, still waking up,
when the rest of the world
is sleeping, this is the moment,
i will seize it,
like the way the chameleon
strikes the approaching fly
with its tongue
you ask me, 'are you still awake, sir? '
and i answer, ' yes, i slept early last night'
on the surface of things
there is this shallowness in our casualness
you only see my shirt and notice the particulars
at first glance: color, shape, the sound of my voice,
the posture of the person
against the window
amidst the morning light
how can we trap the inner cravings?
what about me? and what about you?
the reason why thoughts wake up
because they have been unsaid
wanting to breathe
and be in the open
surely, i still have many words to say
and to keep
to write them, like opening a bottle of champagne
removing the cork finally
and you will be trembling with the sound
of popping out of letting go
what was trapped so beautifully inside
the bottle
but it will only be for a while
soon you will taste the flavor
of the sparkle and i hope you wil soon like it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sweping Sound Early Morning
early morning the sound of sweeping the street
catches your attention,
you have just taken a bath, undergoing the
require cleansing of the body, combing the hair,
checking the nails for dirt, trimming your mustache,
wiping the wet portions of your body,
perfuming the side of the ears and the hands,
it is a ritual, it is like cleaning the body to give
the impression that you have also cleaned your soul
praying, talking to yourself, grasping for any message
from your dream last night, listening to the voice of God,
your conscience whispering what to do for the day
you take the last button, look at yourself in the mirror,
you take the deep breath, open the window, and then
face a new day. It is still you, along with you, talking to yourself.
You are brave, and now ready to face the demands of the brand new day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lucinda
We met one summer evening
As the sun was going down
She was lying on the beach
In her graduation gown
She was wrapped up in a blanket
(I could tell she knew her way around)
And as I lay down beside her
You know she never made a sound
On down the beach came the beach-cleaning man
Scoopin up the papers and flattening down the sand
Lucinda, lucinda, lucinda - weve got to run away
That big white truck is closin in
And well get wounded if we stay
Now lucinda lies buried neath the california sand
Put under by the beach-cleaning man
Lucinda, lucinda, lucinda - whyd you have to go?
They sent her to high school
They sent her to low school
She just wouldnt go further
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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