A Jar's Story
from the start
the hands that shaped you
designed you to be empty
you were named
Jar,
someone so
beautiful and rich
takes you
away from your
maker
those hands
cannot hold you for long
because they are
empty and hungry
hands
and then she fills
you with perfume
and all those who attend
the parties of the
world
dip their fingers
in your scent
they crowd around you
and you are loved
not for what you are
but what you
can give
scents, scents,
all scents
you begin to miss
your original form
the beauty that you
possess
when you were
once empty
you miss the whisper
of space inside
your belly
the hush of the wind
that rests in
your heart
you forget the name
that was given to you
Jar is your name
but are not one of them
anymore
you are the scent
of their necks
hanging on their
jaws and navels
your contents
fill now their fantasies
your hollowness
they now discard
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hold Your Hand A Walk Miles
I want to hold your hands & walk a miles
dont want to miss you even a while
My life is so beautiful caz
Dear. you entered in..My LIFE
Hug me for my worries to die
my tears to dry wait for you and
my lonliness to to fly to sky
it hurts me you know
how i sometimes can be little selfish
when it comes to you.
I am getting sentimental over you!
for god sake explain me why all those
i miss you every moment of the day,
i keep me awake just to listen you,
i keep me empty just for you to fill,
i keep me alive just to see you.
My morning miss you,
my evening all these years,
why you were there to wipe my tears.
Fear of future is worse then pain of the past
still i bother the least, caz you are there
even second are too long to miss you
I want to hold your hands & walk a miles
dont want miss you even a while
poem by Khushi throne
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To Cut a Long Story Short
Your lips like cherries fresh
from the garden
Your breasts enough to fill
my palms
My hands tremble when I picture
your breasts
The way our lips merged together
without space between us while
our tongues played hide and seek
Your eyes i miss to drown inside
I miss your fingers caressing my body
The scent of your detailed body and
the fragrance of your smile
I miss the two of us
poem by Moffat Mbuzi
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How can I empty My Mind?
Came out that emptiness,
Bored of what I was,
Looking at the atom shining somewhere in me,
I looked at wonderful world I entered,
Looking at beauties with beautiful faces,
I was only the faceless,
Wished to have a face!
Result is what I am now,
Facing problems of having a face,
Not seen by myself!
Some say look into mirror,
But mirror showed image which is not me,
How can live this is me looking at image?
In the path I met some one,
They said ' you suffered a lot,
Empty your mind, be happy, '
But how can empty my mind,
So many fill it everyday,
Hungry faces,
thirsty minds,
Needy hands fill compassion,
lusty and greedy, selfish and cruel fill
people fill pain,
Wise one fill wisdom,
Fools fill laughter,
Friends fill it with love and smile!
How can I empty my mind,
When beauty around,
Smiling kids, playing puppies,
Jumping and running kittens,
colourful fragrant flowers,
Surrounded by bees and butterflies,
Green trees with wide hands full of fruits,
All call me to enjoy with them!
Tall standing trees and stubborn mountains,
lakes and oceans full of life,
they fill my mind as much I empty, more they fill!
I emptied mind in meditation,
But the beauty of one who filled beauty in all filled my mind,
How can empty love for that beautiful one,
Who is that beauty in all that's beautiful!
Smiling and loving people,
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
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To A Nephew Newly Born
the most absolute beauty of course is your tiny hand
i want to put there the warmth of my sighs
the roundness of a peeble, the green minty scents of herbs,
the little ponderous glances,
a sunray, a whisper, a hush
at the tips of your fingers
wrinkles are always strangers there
your skin so tight and magical
not this callous hands of my
sunset this
roof without the moon and stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The long Good-bye
Nevermore I shall smell the sweet scents of summer
Or shall I walk through citystreets
The house is empty, the windows closed
My love, farewell, I will miss you most
poem by Gabrielle Stahlie
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These tears of mine
Tears of mine, lover of mine
Until when shall i mourn,
Your presence which is ever absent,
I miss the days we never spent,
The kiss you never gave,
The scent i never smelt,
And the tenderness of yours,
I miss you so,
These are tears of mine
I thought i touched you,
I thought i kissed you,
I thought i felt you,
It was just but a dream,
I miss you so,
These are the tears of mine
My nights are desolate,
My bed is empty,
My hands are damp,
My lips so dry,
Rescue me oh my love,
I miss you so,
These are tears of mine
I see myself,
I imagine,
I cogitate,
Then i cry
Yes come to me,
Yes set me free,
My cheeks are wet,
I miss you so,
These tears of mine
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Self-Portrait
After Adam Zagajewski
I am child to no one, mother to a few,
wife for the long haul.
On fall days I am happy
with my dying brethren, the leaves,
but in spring my head aches
from the flowery scents.
My husband fills a room with Mozart
which I turn off, embracing
the silence as if it were an empty page
waiting for me alone to fill it.
He digs in the black earth
with his bare hands. I scrub it
from the creases of his skin, longing
for the kind of perfection
that happens in books.
My house is my only heaven.
A red dog sleeps at my feet, dreaming
of the manic wings of flushed birds.
As the road shortens ahead of me
I look over my shoulder
to where it curves back
to childhood, its white line
bisecting the real and the imagined
the way the ridgepole of the spine
divides the two parts of the body, leaving
the soft belly in the center
vulnerable to anything.
As for my country, it blunders along
as well intentioned as Eve choosing
cider and windfalls, oblivious
to the famine soon to come.
I stir pots, bury my face in books, or hold
a telephone to my ear as if its cord
were the umbilicus of the world
whose voices still whisper to me
even after they have left their bodies.
poem by Linda Pastan
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On Your Birthday Tomorrow
tomorrow is another day
where you mark another boundary of awareness
your mind adds another layer
the layers of the past like onions that you peel
with your fingers
your eyes staring
taking each peeled reality as a must
the tears fall
your eyes dry
tomorrow you shall say thank you
you have lived and shall live some more
you shall be sorry for those who died
for those who left you
empty halls and empty rooms
you have more reasons to live and continue
what they have really wanted to do
but didn't have the time
hastily cut and utterly wasted by untimely deaths
tomorrow my friend
you must start wearing beautiful eyes those that smile
those that must assure the world
about a fulfillment of its dreams and wishes
those that must affirm beauty and wisdom and truth
shed off old skins and take the new ones
a brave mind, a calm spirit, a determined body
take a self that can hold much
because others are weak and failing
look out for dreams that shall make you whole
gather the fragments, make this mosaic of love and happiness
take the petals of happy moments one by one in your hands
put them in the bowl of your emptiness
put there the cool waters of your composure
take all sense and scents and sit in solitude
be not disturbed about sadness and insecurities
all these are now under the soles of your feet
all these are now taking their own defeat
you stand facing the sun, brave and bold
there is more to hold and to mold
there is more to be done in this world
there is more to be written and spoken to behold!
(happy birthday, one day more, another destiny)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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357
tomorrow is another day
where you mark another boundary of awareness
your mind adds another layer
the layers of the past like onions that you peel
with your fingers
your eyes staring
taking each peeled reality as a must
the tears fall
your eyes dry
tomorrow you shall say thank you
you have lived and shall live some more
you shall be sorry for those who died
for those who left you
empty halls and empty rooms
you have more reasons to live and continue
what they have really wanted to do
but didn't have the time
hastily cut and utterly wasted by untimely deaths
tomorrow my friend
you must start wearing beautiful eyes those that smile
those that must assure the world
about a fulfillment of its dreams and wishes
those that must affirm beauty and wisdom and truth
shed off old skins and take the new ones
a brave mind, a calm spirit, a determined body
take a self that can hold much
because others are weak and failing
look out for dreams that shall make you whole
gather the fragments, make this mosaic of love and happiness
take the petals of happy moments one by one in your hands
put them in the bowl of your emptiness
put there the cool waters of your composure
take all sense and scents and sit in solitude
be not disturbed about sadness and insecurities
all these are now under the soles of your feet
all these are now taking their own defeat
you stand facing the sun, brave and bold
there is more to hold and to mold
there is more to be done in this world
there is more to be written and spoken to behold!
(happy birthday, one day more, another destiny)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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His Loneliness
he undresses himself and
slides inside a tub of water
he buries his head to gain
the coolness of the water
he places his hands on the side
and looks beyond the glass windows
there the trees are green and the
clouds are blue and the sun is brighter
he closes his eyes and lies still
around his body are the foams and scents
he stops awhile for some thoughts
she is still there inside his mind
how can he ever forget her?
how long shall she stay inside his heart?
how can he be so powerless in this?
how can she be so beautiful still despite the years?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas
Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas
Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her
Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence
Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another
Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
Promptly being added to the child’s memory sack
Mom’s own smell, sweat mixed with soap, sweet and pungent
By the child is inhaled and sequestered forever within
Memory’s medicine, to be used as an unguent
And in her memory, applied by her mother’s hands once again
Baby oil and baby powder, a heady mixture...
An olfactory delight to store in a child’s mind
Another memory to sequester and treasure
Mixed with mothers scent, unique and sublime
Many years in the future, this child now all grown
Will be reminded by scents of the present, and will measure
Her mom’s sweet scent, mixed with her own
And locked in her mind’s vault, to treasure….
Forever and ever
poem by David Whalen
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Empty
try looking at my hands
they are empty now
for i have released
what fullness was there
what fist
what clenched hands i had
once they were so
beautiful
in bravery
but
then
there is always a threshold
of courage
suddenly you find hands opening
to the sun
hands without a grip
hands that wave goodbye
to all your friends
hands that
grasp nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Empty Hands!
empty hands
is the essence.
dreams, way of life.
life encompasses death!
empty hands, the way we live
empty hands, the way we die!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Scents And Memory
you leave behind a scent
that trails the sky
my nose has cast
a net that succeeds
to catch all things yours
you have joined the earth
and are now only bones
but your scents, your breath
lingers, trails the entire ground
and my heart that grows fonder
with each passing breeze
the roses bow and bow
in agreement to both of our meet
so many images caught
in this mess of net
flying from scents, earth and bones
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Race
Thinking on the childish longings,
Makes me laugh and takes again,
To the golden age when I played,
With the boys of the same size and age,
All we often ran and raced,
To see the end of the ball of the Earth,
Or touch the bending horizon,
Too blue, too near, too clear,
And to attain crimson hue of twilight,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
When we played in the meadows green,
The wings of the Moon-soon winds,
Did bring on the plains of the Punjab,
Flocks of clouds thick and dark,
Drifted by shepherds with sticks unseen,
That seemed landing upon the pastures,
We ran and raced under or along,
To possess the lowering object in hands,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
Oh! My friends I have been convinced,
To the thought that the floating world,
Is made of vapour or condensed clouds,
For in the days of youth, grown up age,
I ran the race with the faster pace,
After the world but could not catch,
And brought me now to the brim of grave,
Ah! But out of breath with empty hands.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Smell Of My Emotions
these emotions are scents,
they long, for your perfume,
that time, when you were
beside me, i want to hold you
and kiss you, nothing metaphorical
about a kiss, like lips, like
tips, tongues, are tongues,
tasting like you, and your emotions,
they give me a trail,
domesticating me to your
heart, a home, but not
for me, it is you, and i know,
i cannot have, but just beside
you, in this car, this journey,
that i mumble, for how long,
i know, it will be forever,
this longing, this dream,
of one, of wholeness,
i remain, incomplete, i have
hands but they are still,
like posts, with lights
on an evening, and you
are below me, as i provide
the light, and then you
walk away, just like that,
just like that, just like that,
there is no breath for me
there is no place.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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