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there are walls there are ceilings
there are wall here and there are ears who listen so well
and eyes who see too clearly
you,
there are ceilings too
there are limits to what you can do
there are floors
between
you
now the cup has overflowed the dams break out
a flood
will cover you, the floor meets the ceiling and you are sandwiched
like a witch,
see..how you crumple?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Are Walls There Are Ceilings
there are wall here and there are ears who listen so well
and eyes who see too clearly
you,
there are ceilings too
there are limits to what you can do
there are floors
between
you
now the cup has overflowed the dams break out
a flood
will cover you, the floor meets the ceiling and you are sandwiched
like a witch,
see..how you crumple?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some Things Do Not Meet
heaven and earth
floors and ceilings
fish and fire
the plus and minus
in between is the sky,
air and space
the bottom and
the zero
imagine
you are sleeping
on your bed
and then the floor and
the ceiling kiss
the plus and minus
touching hands
electrically
the fish catching fire
on its tails
without the
the cookware
in between
imagine
the marriage of heaven
and earth
where shall you be?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Night in Their Attic
From this attic, the ceiling is
Almost kissing the floor
And the hapless heart is
No too far from a plethora of slumber
As I lay here, pensively wafting
In the smoldering rail tracks of oblivion
Darting to the final station: an abeyance
My sodden eyes swept the parameter
And it measured the expanse;
Everything was closer.
My emaciated chest
Can even rise to graze
The creamy phosphors of the ceiling
But there was a backdoor
Where everything slewed
Because in their attic
I was still
Bleak
Rolling in the gutters.
The clock didn't shifted
Its gears and triggered
A blacker serration of cinders
Plummeting with the pillars
Of my constitutions
Yet, I engulfed the humming air
Like I never tasted it
Because I wanted more life
And there could be one,
Stashed in these corners.
The moon didn't sprawled on her divan,
The sun didn't grind his maws,
And the crowd didn't fill
The maladroit patios,
But I was breathing
Between the floors
And the ceilings,
Restless from a revelry
And a lack of slumber
As how I wanted to be
Benumb from
Bereavement:
A life cloyed
By genial walls.
poem by Norman Santos
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From A Spider...
Human, human, stood all alone, in the room,
Watch me, while around your walls, I zoom!
That you have spotted me, it is all too clear,
As I see your face, suddenly fill with fear.
I get bored of just standing here all static;
Watch, while I do some clever acrobatics!
See how I can hang from this here beam;
Oh no! I never meant to make you scream!
I see that you can only walk upon the floor;
Well, I can do walls, ceilings, and a lot more.
For a while, I was hanging over your head;
I hung from the ceiling, just above your bed.
Upon me, your eyes appear to be super-glued;
I detect that you are not in the best of moods.
You seem to want to keep me within your sight;
I'm tiny, compared to you; why take such fright?
I'm a good runner: I'm extremely fast,
And you'll never catch me in that glass.
I'll happily give humans the run-around;
I'll crawl into a crevice, never to be found.
I'd feel happier if you just left me alone,
So, that, around your home, I can roam.
Now then, I'm really not trying to be rude,
But I really must go, and find some food.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Three Flights Up
On the first floor On the first floor
On the first floor there's a young girl reeling
Her body's numb and without feeling
As illusions dance on the midnight ceiling
Now she's falling, now she's kneeling
It's almost like she's bowed in prayer
A savior she's about to bear
She screams for help, but no one's there
On the first floor
On the first floor people walk the halls
But none can hear her desperate calls
There is no sound beyond the walls
So to the telephone she crawls
She telephones her only friend
The one on whom she can depend
But the phone rings on without an end
Then rings no moreOn the first floor
There's a party on the second floor
And through the picture window you can see them all
They're laughing and they're dancing
Admiring the Renoir that's hanging on the wall
But in the master bedroom where the coats are piled high
A silent, saddened lady thinks of what it's like to die
And as she dwells on all the years she still has left to face
She wonders how she'll ever find someone to take his place
Then suddenly she's jarred by the ringing of the phone
Oh, why do you ring now, just when I want to be alone?
So she walks into the bathroom and drinks some water from a cup
But the telephone stops ringing just before she picks it up
My family was very poor
So I worked hard to be secure
I married one I had to wed
And not the one I loved instead
When I was young my blood ran wild
But we stayed married for the child
Now three flights up, I'm all alone
My wife is dead, my child is grown
My daughter leads a wayward life
She's been a failure as a wife
And though she lives just one floor down
She never calls or comes around
Step off the platform and onto the train
Look out your window and into the rain
Watch all the buildings that pass as you ride
And count all the stories that go on inside
And then ask yourself if it must be this way
Should walls and doors and plaster ceilings
Separate us from each others' feelings?
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Angel's Guitar
White walls
White ceilings
White windows
White floors
Screams of insanity
Right outside my door
I can't even begin to explain
How scared that I was
Spending entire days
Praying to Heaven above
People thinking of unforgivable sins
Needing away from that Devil's evil grin
Listen to the sounds of the Angel's guitar
I've been here before my friends
Trapped like a firefly in a pitch-black mason jar
It's not fun, thats a matter of fact
You can bet that Caleb Jones is back
Better than ever
With God at my side
Listening to the sounds of the Angel's guitar
24/7/365
poem by Caleb Jones
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M3
On certain compromises
we agree on a certain indifference
we may not let them know
that within us are the wounds
that never heal
the broken pieces beyond repair
but everyone in this big house
shall never know
what is real what is true
for they must survive just as we
want them to live well
we feed them fabricated dispositions
longer lines of smiles
well trained caressing hands
eyes without any conscience
the incapacity to tell which is
right and which is wrong
and they must believe that
there are no termites on the
ceilings and the walls
no cockroaches in the cracks
of those kitchen sinks
no scorpions underneath those
wooden floors beneath those
foul foundations
'well done' says the law.
we are just behaving that way
good citizens of this republic
deal with usual turmoils
'we are always ready to sacrifice'
we tell them with uniform cliches.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Expression
Back in the sixties we used to indulge
in letting our toddler play in the lounge.
When he did drawings over our walls
we gave him free reign, hey man it's all cool.
As he went on to pursue this art form
we both encouraged, we thought it top draw
After all, in due course it would all have to end
so we thought, as he went on enjoying this bent.
But when he was ten, he persisted to scrawl
over our armchairs, the tables and floors,
and on reaching sixteen, yes, all to our cost
he still persevered in his drawings - a lot.
Now he has grown, he lives on his own
and expresses himself in his own little home.
He paints and he writes on the ceilings and walls
he'll let the phone ring, he's not in to take calls.
He doesn't seem bothered of what people think
although when they visit they tut and they blink.
He's expressing himself and it makes him feel good,
he's not really bad, he's just misunderstood.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Thank You, My Darling
Thank you for giving my life meaning,
But even more for making our life possible.
Since we met, I have never felt alone.
Happiness is knowing that you are close by.
Your presence has made this house a home.
Ceilings, walls and floors are not bound
By nails and cement as much as by your love.
Paint and adornments are lifeless
Without the warmth of your presence.
Thank you for being your wonderful self
And being so generous to share life with me.
My only regret is that each passing year
With you at my side seems to rush faster.
My joy is that forever we will share life.
For this wonder I will always be grateful.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Chained by Language
We live in concrete boxes with ceiling and walls
Sometimes, Deco sometimes Roccoco
With minds trapped in bony skulls
Chained by language, stuttering thoughts of the soul
We live in darkness lit up by glaring,
And electricity to illuminate and reflect and reflect
We hear the tiny echoes of voices and thoughts,
Bouncing up and down bumping back and forth
Conjugating, communicating, copulating, fornicating
Metaphors allegories everything and anything to cloud identity
We live close and next to, only in rare moments souls touch
Then, Slip back to concrete boxes with ceilings and walls
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Just Alone On This Day!
Ceilings are high,
dealings are nigh,
dialing to none,
fueling no fun.
No sweet bought,
No roses ordered,
No poem written,
no one to meet.
All alone after work,
open channels play tricks,
Beautiful lasses with lads,
Happy hours and ceremonies.
Call the forgotten loved ones,
to make them happy as they may be alone.
We do not have to be alone,
we do not have to keep the secrets,
we do not have to be sad,
we do not have to be modern.
Talk to your loved ones,
who are always free to talk,
to their loved ones,
under any circumstances...
ceilings are high,
Let it be. Don't look at it.
Dealings are nigh,
Let it be. Can finish it later.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Pictures
Whoa oh yeah
I've seen pictures
Well i saw you just the other day
And i could not help but look your way
I say you've just got this special look
That has got me completely hooked
Ow
Pictures on the wall
Pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall
Everywhere i stare
Pictures on the wall
The ceiling and the floor
I'm in a metal room
And i cannot find the door
Will this feeling ever go away?
Or will this feeling stay?
Will this feeling ever go away?
'cause i can't live the rest of my life this way
Pictures on the wall
[c'mon]
Pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall
[c'mon c'mon]
Everywhere i stare
Pictures on the wall
[c'mon c'mon]
The ceiling and the floor
I'm in a metal room and i cannot find the door
I see your face in the clouds in the sky
I see your face before my eyes, yeah
I see your face everywhere
And now i don't know what to do
Oh oh
Pictures on the wall
Pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall
Everywhere i stare
Pictures on the wall
The ceiling and the floor
I'm in a metal room
And i cannot find the door
Whoa pictures...
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nicklin’s Torment
I woke up in a cold sweat
and turned on the light.
A shadow was moving over me,
cast by a spider of the night.
By the time I’d blinked
it’d vanished from view,
but then I saw a larger one,
followed by another two.
I closed my eyes for a moment
hoping they would disappear.
When I slowly reopened them
the bedroom was spider clear.
With my hand I mopped my brow
and then saw several more,
they were crawling on the ceiling
and marching across the floor.
I told myself that I was dreaming
or suffering from withdrawal,
but that didn’t stop the spiders
from crawling up the wall.
Sweat dripping from my brow
was stinging in my eyes.
Spiders were now on my bed
at my feet and on my thighs.
The whole room was full of spiders,
on the ceiling, walls, and floor.
My bed was covered and so was I.
I screamed stop! But out came even more.
Spiders crawling on top of spiders,
in my mouth, nose and ears,
their scary eyes staring into mine,
I was choking with utter fear.
I tried in vain to fight them off,
but my hand didn’t move a one.
I must have blacked out just then,
when I awoke they had all gone.
Things are becoming better now
and the spiders are getting less.
I’m told they’ll eventually go for good,
along with my shakes, thirst, and mess.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Leaning On The Wall
you see me leaning
on the wall
you think that i am
about to faint
and you signal
if you can help
but i am quick
with my hand
waiving
no i am alright
i am feeling the wall
i am listening
to its ears
there is this
hardness on walls
that i like to know
there is this
silence of the walls
that i like to hear
from its very ears
you think i am
weak and sick
you think i am
the one that
darwin says
may be
exterminated
come to think of it
these walls
are the walls
built by my father
and his father's father
they feel my body
and they say
i am doing well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Meadow
I asked the silver one on one
Tell me who I am
Lines on your finger says
You wouldnt understand
I asked the silver one on one
Tell me whats the score
Lies on your picture says
You wouldnt need much more
In the meadow
I asked oblivion just for fun
Tell me what to say
Climb up the mountain boy
And look the other way
I asked a million questions
Of the world I want to be
And the signs I remember
Whos the one they got to me
In the meadow,
Looking for life in the world
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
We asked a wonder one on one
Please tell me what to be
Call down the miracles
And save yourself for me
We asked a river one on one
Please tell me what you see
I see forever
And it looks like you and me
In the meadow
Looking for life in the world
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
Looking for life in the world
In the meadow
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
In the meadow
Looking for life
In the meadow
Feeling so fine
In the meadow
Seeming so high
Life might be listening
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Ears - My Eyes
My ears are my eyes because I am blind.
When I cross the street I listen for the sound of cars braking.
My ears are my eyes.
When I enter a room I tap my cane onto the floor and listen for the distance the echo travel to know how far I am away from someone else. My ears are my eyes.
I may never physical see the beauty of a spring day, but when I hear the birds are chirping, bikes constantly peddling by and lovers saying I love you. I know it is a beautiful spring day. I may be blind but I still see my ears are my eyes.
Note: No I am not blind myself but I know several people who are and this is me letting the rest of the world how they see through my poetry.
Lightning
we hear the dealers with their words
that ride the tails
of their cigarette smoke
sliding through the tunnels of our ears
those greasy marionettes of
real bone and blood
stand on the corner of washington square
vision stinging
eyes blurring
elevators got your rising so high
17 floors you want so much more
elevators got you rising so high
17 floors you want so much more
there's lightning on the ceiling
coming from the corner of her eye...
somewhere horses flee from thunder
somewhere the bones of a cat
are buried under a garden
well ther's a radio on
broken songs empty digression
won't be ling to you and me are gone from here
lightning on the ceiling
coming from the corner of her eye
song performed by by Dispatch from Who Are We Living For?
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Writings On The Wall
when he was writing about
walls
he wrote the words on the walls
and they were arranged
like walls
from wall to wall his description
about the wall was
consistently like a wall
walling in all the walls
around the wall
where he was writing
consistently and
uniformly the word
wall, wall, wall, wall
and then nothing but a train of walls like this
wallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallw allwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwall
of course, he did notn add any smoke from steam engine
neither did he add any children and women and even men riding on the
train of walls
there was no driver even
or wheels
what he stressed was just a wall, a wall train, a wall nothing but a wall
walling him in
but what he really wanted at the end was something that should wall him out
something however that until now he is still trying to figure out
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Have You Experienced Inside A Wall Within A Wall Within A Wall?
i laugh since i broke a wall and i smile because finally i am free
and yet when i try to smile anew i find myself inside another wall again.
i break another wall again and again and again
but the walls keep walling me like i am its lover.
and finally i give up, i feel the walls too loving and caring for me.
and then i care for the walls and learn to love each corner
its thickness its soundless world
and then i tell the house where the walls are growing healthy,
i am glad about walls. They keep me secure. And then finally i said it for once.
the walls love me. and i love the walls since then.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Imageless All Inclusive Void of Explanation...
Sorted categories:
qualities both
physical
spiritual
constitute
paradoxical
man
mono
element
locked in
labyrinth
of opposing
ambiguity
Floors
walls
ceilings
doors
everything
compressed
one small
engrained circle
focal red dot
assassin of self
The window
the head -
the point
between
the eyes
absolute
center
of perception
unshakeable
core of focus
twisting and turning
insides writhing
we remain
immovably
ourselves
rare curious patterns
interlocking figures
without gap
separation
all too self evident
amongst the crowd
Distinctions and contrasts
the ignorant self
could never live without
all adjacent components of
common enlightened
arrangement
Portals of eternal expansion...
children of the ageless light...
Mind enigmatic …
Experiences...
...beyond bounds of
conceivable expression...
...incomprehensible speculation...
existing as one in...
...the all inclusive void of
imageless explanation...
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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