A Landscape Of A Woman Sleeping Naked In Bed
a woman faces her bed
forming a landscape of
hills and shadows
a forest of long hair
contours of the body
curves of roads
without the usual cars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Curves
i love curves
like winding roads
that lull me
giving me such
needed rest
when i climb
mountain tops
for curves have
a way of making
things turn the
way they are not
and i marvel
about such
an intricacy
an art that winds
upon itself in
mystery, something
so profound
like what is that boa
hiding in its coils?
a pig? a goat?
a dog?
or a man?
curves heal
like a profound idea
entwining a man's mind
like a vine
delivering a yellow flower
to my lips
curves of a woman's body
like an argument that
wants to convince a stoical
and impartial jury
curves in my mind
not sharp not blunt not even piercing
but exaltingly stunning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Am At The Beach
i am at the beach
it is getting too dark to play
with my emotions
there is this woman against the wind
her clothes blown outlining the contours of her body
her hair black and long
she stares at the waves
getting bigger
i am watching her vigilant
on her next move
the sun sets sadly on her face
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Forest
By the sacred grove, where the waters flow
We will come and go, in the forest
In the summer rain, we will meet again
We will learn the code of the ancient ones
In the forest
By the waterfall, I will hold you in my arms
We will meet again by the leafy glade
In the shade of the forest
With your long robes on, we will surely roam
By the ancient roads, I will take you home
To the forest
In the forest, in the forest
In the forest, in the forest
With your long robes on, we will surely roam
By the ancient roads, I will take you home again
To the forest
Satisfy the soul baby
Birds sing all day long of the mother lode
We can let it roll, in the forest
With your long robes on
I know where youre coming from
By the big oak tree youve gotta come and go with me
In the forest, in the forest
In the forest, in the forest
By the waterfall
I will hold you in my arms, and we will meet again
By the leafy shade, in the, in the forest
Satisfy the soul
Birds sing all day long of the mother lode
We can surely let it roll, in the forest
With your long robes on
I know where youre coming from
We will surely roam, down by the ancient roads
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Safe Harbor
The rolling tan hills
slope away gently
tracing a certain soft patina
in the dusty night;
framed by
black, straight
long stemmed flowers
languid against
my back-dropp window;
they look like night time sun-risings,
against a curved topography
which seems to move up
and down slowly
in the invisible summer breeze;
framed
are two dark pools
which glitter in subdued light.
There are dimpled mounds too
rounded, curving away.
Further down
the whole view
indents, like a woman's body
and curves back out again
forming what I think of as
two safe harbors
on either side.
Peninsula structures
are next
framing
a mystery center
which is barely visible
but I can see heat eddies
make the air wavy
as they rise.
All of this forms
a wondrous curved archipelago.
All of this is your body,
the body I love,
and you,
who
when
our geography's meet,
make the world new
again
each night.
We each
are explorers
who
need a lifetime
to see
where Geography
and Sweet Love
meet.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Thighs And Bottoms
i switch on to
desire
watching the thigh
and the bottom
of a human being
dance of love before
me as i open my eyes
for clarity
curves and shapes
contours of a landscape
where i have been
for quite a time
there's cliff
and i plunge it
liberating
i close my eyes
my hands shout
for joy
this is bliss
my abdomen says.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Revealing Clothes
Just show your face, neck, hair and limbs.
Curves and contours will speak the rest.
You need not wear any revealing clothes.
Then you will command men in hight.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Shadows Of The Hills
the shadows of the hills
cast themselves upon the body of the running rivers
they hope to run with them
they wish to escape to the boundless sea
the hills are unmoved
they are all silent and numb
the sun comes angrily at noon and
then decides to annihilate the unwanted
someone so fat and ugly under the tree shows
with all glee about the death of the hills' shadows
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In My Own Town
the faces of people
are still faces,
nothing there are
transformed
into animals,
that boy may look
like an urchin to
you
with spikes throughout
his hair or
that old woman
a camel with an abnormal
hunch
back
the gasoline boy
becomes
an alligator
its tongue preying
on the
cars and impatient
queues
of turtles
i still have respect
to this town
the men are men
and women
are mothers and sisters
of mine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So Much I Gazed
So much I gazed on beauty,
that my vision is replete with it.
Contours of the body. Red lips. Voluptuous limbs.
Hair as if taken from greek statues;
always beautiful, even when uncombed,
and it falls, slightly, over white foreheads.
Faces of love, as my poetry
wanted them.... in the nights of my youth,
in my nights, secretly, met....
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Casual Relationship
you ride in a bus
on a long trip to Pagadian
beside you is a woman with long black hair
pink blouse, not wearing a bra,
juicy lips, smooth skin,
perfumed
just the two of you
and it rains
heavily and the bus speeds its
way climbing steep roads
then her head rests on
your chest
she must be tired
your heart beats faster
something in your body
grows
you do not want this journey
to end
you caress her hair
she wakes up
and smiles
and then you kiss
at the terminal she rushes
to the road where a black car is waiting
she waves her hand
bidding goodbye
just that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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See All Her Faces
(jim stratton / alexander ryan)
Here she comes
Here she comes
Ribbons flying from her half-forgotten hair
Look at her run
See what the world and love have done
See all her faces
See all her faces
Look in my eyes
That she is me
I cant disguise
See all her faces
Ah, ha, see all her faces
Im looking for someone
Of the gentle kind
Knowing that looks can lie
Looking for someone
Is he there to find?
Or should I run on by, ah, ha
Here she comes
Here she comes
Shadows sadly chasing
Every step she takes
Look at her now
She needs love so much more somehow
See all her faces
See all her faces
Look at my life
The wasted years
Each a knife
See all her faces, ah-ha
See all her faces
Waiting for someone
Who will set me free
Passing the time too fast
Waiting for someone
Is that where hell be?
Or should I run right past? , hmm
There she goes
There she goes
Somehow making me and all her faces sad, oh, oh
Ba, da, ba, da, ba, da, ba, da......
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have long been interested in landscape history, and when younger and more robust I used to do much tramping of the English landscape in search of ancient field systems, drove roads, indications of prehistoric settlement.
quote by Penelope Lively
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Other World
try standing naked by this mirror
see yourself to every detail
look closer to your eyes
count the waves of your eyelashes
open your mouth and see how many teeth you have
all white, pure white lining up on your pink gums
feel your lips with your fingertips
feel the pulp the flesh of the lower lip
to the upper lip
touch your hair
do not imagine them all black
closely they are not at all
move a little bit closer and see your body
this beautiful human body
flesh, contours, curves, some muscles
the whole of your skin wrapping
everything in your body holding them all
nothing falls, on this erect body, this
god before you, standing steel-like with dignity
in front of the mirror
do not claim you have seen your soul with your eyes
do not lie
be honest to yourself now,
alone, you are alone, do not imagine
any god, any soul, any spirit,
just be honest,
touch your body with your hands
feel the joy of having this body
your body, pinch a part of it to feel
not pain, but just to feel that you are alive,
do you ever ask what made these parts stay as one?
look again at the mirror of this stature
your body, it is you, touching your body
take a hammer, and destroy the mirror
shatter everything to pieces
this is the world without a mirror
there is nothing to reflect you now
nothing to imagine, it is you, the real you
do you ever ask now, where is that other world?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Green Roads
The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,
Life marks left behind by someone gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.
Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.
An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.
In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.
It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,
All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.
That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:
They were a host, but their memories are lost,
For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest
Excepting perhaps me, when now I see
The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,
And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.
poem by Edward Thomas
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There Is A Point In Your Life...(for Mother Earth)
it comes as a surprise
even to you
when someone looks upon you
how you spend so much money
on what they call as useless
profitless ventures
and all their eyes show the worry
of a loser
much like a son first meeting
the prodigal shape of
a face
for you
at this point in your life
spend much of what you have
in viewing the majesty of a waterfall
the trip on the hidden hills
the foot-walk and
the silence of the bats hanging
on those forest trees
the springs of water below
the foot of those hills
and its virginal
rocks
then
you say nothing
you give a smile to yourself to this triumph
when what they have viewed as non-essential
have become too pleasing
to your soul
and
you just know it
at the end there is no regret
you are merely admiring the beauty of this earth
following the curves of its body
burying yourself in the coldness
of its arms
and telling it
that there is no love greater than this
knowing mother
earth
telling her that you want a space
between her
breasts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman is conditioned to be a feast
Those rapacious eyes of men,
As they are in and around,
Over my curves and contours,
I detest not and repels not,
Rather would prefer them
And yet choose to ignore,
Set to fear the tongue of scandal.
I am content to be a feast.
Those rapacious eyes of men,
Much in for-aught-I-mind,
Nevertheless have their food.
Man lives on his eyes;
Woman lives from his eyes.
29.10.2002, Chenn
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Cars Are Cars
Words & music by paul simon 1983
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Similarly made. similarly sold
In a motorcade. abandoned when theyre old
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Engine in the front. jack in the back
Wheels take the brunt. pinion and a rack
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
But people are strangers
They change with the curve
From time zone to time zone
As we can observe
They shut down their borders
And think theyre immune
They stand on their differences
And shoot at the moon
But cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Drive em on the left. drive em on the right
Susceptible to theft in the middle of the night
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
I once had a car
That was more like a home
I lived in it, loved in it
Polished its chrome
If some of my homes
Had been more like my car
I probably wouldnt have
Travelled this far
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women for the Men
To clasp a silken-textured breast
Is nothing but a daily quest
Of preternatural drive.
We wonder of the fulsome fare
Her bra undone might bring to bear -
Disclosing all so we may stare
For hours on end upon the pair of
Why-do-woman's-curves-ensnare-
the-brains- of-men? -
A bleak affair,
And why we still survive!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sweet Jamaica
Jamaica, Jamaica! Fly me away so I can feel your sweet embrace once more. How I do long to be in your arms once again to feel your heat up against my body. Fly me away on down to your sweet paradise. I want your lips kissing my cheek, your warm shores wrapped around me, and your sea melting away my pain. I want to stroll along your narrow streets; I want to behold your picture perfect sunsets. I want to lie in your warmth and hold you as I slumber. Make me feel safe and wanted once more.
Jamaica, Jamaica! I said farewell so long ago. I miss you so much now. Sweet is your memory to me. In my solitude I ponder your memory. So long ago and so far away you are to me. I want to smell your sweet perfume in the air. I want to see your gentleness swaying in a mystical caribien wind. Gentle are your curves so womanly and majestically. I want to see the sun rise as we are naked to the world. Your gentle rain beckons me back to the place I feel most at home. Home is where the heart is and my heart eternally is with you.
So long ago you left me and life does not seem the same. Take me home to greener pastures, ferny hills, fertile soil, and your fruits abundant. Plant me in your soil and relieve my pent-up frustrations once again even if it’s only for a brief moment’s pleasure. Let me run my hands aside your sandy shores. Let me play in your fields of exciting delight. Allow me to return to the place of my birth. Let me taste you fruit once more before I lay all my burdens behind me. Fulfill me for the last time as I walk alone in the shadows of my own mortality.
Jamaica, Jamaica! How it saddens me not to be with you any more. My heart screams for you day and night, you possess my dreams, and you are the keeper of my soul. Your curvy roads set my soul afire. The sandy mound you possess I want to climb again. Let me swim in your ocean and recapture my youth. I don’t long to be in yesterday. All I want is to live again. Leave me no more unhappy as I am for you. Lonely is the night of my solitude.
Jamaica, Jamaica! You are like a beautiful woman with your long black hair flowing in a mid-summer breeze. Your earth is your tender brown skin pressed gently against mine. Your eyes reflect your torques spirited seas. Your lips are the hibiscus plant. Your voice is the sweet sounds of the humming bird. Your mouth is the voice of generations past. Your body so perfectly curvaceous that is sets the sun a blaze. You are the soul that makes many loose control of there faculties.
Let me get lost in your arms once more for old time sake. Jamaica it is so true that I love you. What more can I ever hope for. From once I came shall I return to thee. Closer I want to be. Closer and closer to thee shall I ever be. Your perfume wraps in me in your ascents. Fly me away so I can come on down.
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Finding The Golden Rod
from my head you follow the
contours of my eyebrow
walk upon the bridge of my nose
follow the furrows of my skin
and pass upon the grasses of my hair
you shall climb the hills on
my chest and slide upon
the muscles of my arms
rest a while on the plains
of my abdomen and
proceed some more
on the the lower valley
of my strong body
the veins your maps
that your lips must
gently follow and then
with your bare hands
right at the center of
my thighs you grab the
golden shiny rod
an ember sword
of the kings
hidden in that pot
at the foot of my rainbow.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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