A MAN by EMMA Z.
this is a picture of you
my man, on white brief,
masculine body, strong,
firm arms, gentle eyes
determined eyelashes,
bold fingers, drinking
a hot cup of coffee,
well cut hair, shaven face,
smooth skin, hair on the
slab of his skin, firm legs
easy on the floor, calm nipples,
peaceful on the sofa,
waiting for me.
yet i still ask for more
when he steps out of my door
i may cry a little bit
three or four tears are enough
for a decent parting
a little time for mourning
a pint of vodka to shake him off from my system
tonight, i'll make a call
another man enters my door
into my womb, my system filled with his spurts
i stoop, i kneel, i worship this man
i lick every dropp of him
and then he goes again
at dawn, fitting in his black underwear
back to his pants and polo
sliding his belt
buttoning his pants
zip his pocket
yet i ask still for more
to fill this emptiness of my being
they are all men that step in and out of my door
hinges still strong and intact
i am suspended so well between the space and the frame
i am a woman. They are just men.
I swallow and spit them all.
i vomit and swallow them all again.
this is the cycle of my
skepticism.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Time to be with myself, this self, this self, this self
I put my hands in the side pocket of my pants
Tuck my polo, gel my hair, smooth and stiff
Put on my shoes, my wristwatch is tight,
Zip my skin to keep both bones and flesh
Follow the narrow path and walk
Without looking back
It is now this time
For myself
To
Where?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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for Linda
the photograph of
a woman could be you
and afraid of sanctions from
this rigid
moralistic society you hide
in the
shadow of a silhouette
you become a dark
black figure leaning on the
frame of a door
against the light of the day
your breasts are firm
your nipples are not afraid
anymore
caressed by the fingers of
the wind from
the window from the sea
your feet tiptoe on the
floor
but your arms and hands
are hiding
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Four Woman
My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is woolly
My back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain
inflicted again and again
What do they call me
My name is AUNT SARAH
My name is Aunt Sarah
My skin is yellow
My hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong
My father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
What do they call me
My name is SAFFRONIA
My name is Saffronia
My skin is tan
My hair is fine
My hips invite you
my mouth like wine
Whose little girl am I?
Anyone who has money to buy
What do they call me
My name is SWEET THING
My name is Sweet Thing
My skin is brown
my manner is tough
I'll kill the first mother I see
my life has been too rough
I'm awfully bitter these days
because my parents were slaves
What do they call me
My name is PEACHES
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skin Hair
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Skin Hair…
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
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Four Women
Nina simone
My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is wooly
My back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain
Its been inflicted again and again
What do they call me
My name is aunt sarah
My name is aunt sarah
My skin is yellow
My hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong
My father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
What do they call me
My name is siffronia
My name is siffronia
My skin is tan
My hairs alright, its fine
My hips invite you
And my lips are like wine
Whose little girl am i?
Well yours if you have some money to buy
What do they call me
My name is sweet thing
My name is sweet thing
My skin is brown
And my manner is tough
Ill kill the first mother I see
Cos my life has been too rough
Im awfully bitter these days
Because my parents were slaves
What do they call me
My
Name
Is
Peaches
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I Wait For For You
and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill
i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill
when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it
i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you
i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul
do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep
just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness
we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins
we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Competition
as i wake up
i prepare for another round of
competition
about the day's strategies
the hour's demands
the dictates of the last seconds
i rub my eyes
wake up
carry my body
dragging it like
a heavy metal
i wash my face
check my attache case
taking in
all the papers
i see myself in the
mirror
dressed for the day
an attire
not fit for any embarrassment
polished shoes
oiled hair
well ironed pants
infallible polo shirt
i step out of the door
get inside my car
and now i am ready
to compete against
the previous self
that i had.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sculptor
he first sculpted a very shapely body of a woman
thin arms, slender body, soft fingers,
porcelain smooth skin
supple breasts
complete with a face
and other
body parts to the last detail
possible
then he sculpted the man
the usual man with strong arms
gentle eyes and well chiseled
thighs
complete with a face
and other body parts to the last detail
possible
he is so kind enough
to leave the two
in the privacy
of their new found existence
that his chisels
and hammers gave them
despite the fact
that he is gay
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Black Box
it is there, i know, it has always been there,
and will always be there, even if i shy away from
its darkness, always, i find myself taking the steps
towards its oblong door, i promise myself, and
keep more promises,
attuned, the promises do not mean a thing,
and now i am inside this black box again,
the walls are silent like the starless sky,
the floors are ready to receive me back
to their feet, i lie on the bed of desire,
on the mattress of emptiness, i spit, and i spit
on my face, it does not matter now,
there is no trace of sleep, there is only the stare,
but i do not have the fear anymore,
the confrontation is serious, i sin, and i must
sin responsibly. i hug my own body, and i kiss
my face, the mirror that faces me understands
all these, and now, it smiles, and goes back
to the silence that accepts. I have dues to pay.
My pocket is ready to empty its body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Vomit Your Love
try learning to vomit
love
white foams coming out
from your mouth
some green
phlegm
excluded from your system
and then you will know
it is true love
when you decide
to eat them
all again
you swallow your pride
you take in
what you have taken out
perhaps
you were reckless
perhaps
your were imprudent
on some
indiscretions beyond your control
now you want
to take in
to be back
to where you think
you were once
happy and determined and settled
and stable like a post
a pillar
a tongue finally resting
within the walls of your teeth within the strong confines
of your mouth
in comfortable silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Decent Man
a decent man comes out
from a room: black shiny coat
red tie, a diamond pin, a white polo shirt
a well cut hair a la james bond
eyes covered with a reading glass
you get the impression that he is well-read
and trained to the gentleness of a well-bred
progeny, he is cool and calm and
always gives you the sense of
a deep listener
his wisdom flows from his
attentive eyes
keen and ponderous
you think he has no capacity for
sin or mischief
you feel that he is elevated from
the rest of us
but that is not exactly true.
one night, a cold air blows from
the sea and feels his room with
quivers. He has entertained thoughts
about the woman in Bahamas.
Or the girl from Ipanema.
He rings the phone asking for
the name of a woman. Cathy.
He needs a night. He is hot
as a cinder, as an iron rod
red as flame.
and then the woman comes
barely dressed and well scented
luscious lips and abundant bosom.
soft hair and sleepy eyes.
he opens the door and she closes it.
he asks her to undress and dance
before him. and they made love
in front of the mirror by the wall.
the man has assumed the shadow
of a mad dog as he makes
the push and pull until he is
through. At that moment the decent
man has become a mad dog just like
any mad dog with saliva flowing
along the streets of the slums.
for in truth, a decent man is as decent
only as he is dressed under the sun.
As soon as he gets naked inside his room,
this decent man faces the truth of his being.
in the secret of a moonlit night,
the shadow of the decent man
is just this dog, and nothing more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Are Still You On That Dimming Fading Light
you are still you on that dimming
fading light in the room where we softly talk
the years did not diminish you
your hair still curly, black and shiny hanging on the side of your ears
your forehead did not give in to the furrows of your sorrows
no wrinkles reside on your cheeks, tight and smooth on the light
of the small gas lamp
your gaze lands on my eyes like soft hands caressing my face
i gaze in return like the way how we understand each other
when we were so young and playful
when we tried to defy authority only to end in submission
you are still you in your undying love for me
as i have unlearned what we have taken as memories for ourselves
i, now, in my indifference, accepts what life is
the coldness of reason, the grip of necessity, the confidence
of being stuck and not moving to a new direction
looking at you with pity
holding firm for tears not to fall, and then opening the door
closing it again and moving away
feeling the weakness again
running to the streets and not looking back at your face
realizing how the years fell heavy on my back
how i have betrayed myself
you are you, firm and so beautiful
leave me, for i am no longer strong, so ugly like a heart that no longer feels
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Happens in the B.R. Families
'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Newport lie
That I roused from sleep in a huddled heap
An elderly wealthy guy.
His hair was graying, his hair was long,
And graying and long was he;
And I heard this grouch on the shore avouch,
In a singular jazzless key:
"Oh, I am a cook and a waitress trim
And a maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door!"
And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
And he started to frisk and play,
Till I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
So I said (in the Gilbert way):
"Oh, elderly man, I don't know much
Of the ways of societee,
But I'll eat my friend if I comprehend
However you can be
"At once a cook and a waitress trim
And the maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door."
Then he smooths his hair with a nervous air,
And a gulp in his throat he swallows,
And that elderly guy he then lets fly
Substantially as follows:
"We had a house down Newport way,
And we led a simple life;
There was only I," said the elderly guy,
And my daughter and my wife.
"And of course the cook and a waitress trim
And the maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door."
"One day the cook she up and left,
She up and left us flat.
She was getting a hundred and ten a mon-
Th, but she couldn't work for that.
"And the waitress trim was her bosom friend,
And she wouldn't stay no more;
And our strong chauffeur eloped with her
Who was the maid of the second floor.
"And we couldn't get no other help,
So I had to cook and wait.
It was quite absurd," wept the elderly bird.
"I deserve a better fate.
"And I drove the car and I made the beds
Till the housekeeper up and quit;
And the man at the door found that a bore,
Which is why I am, to wit:
"At once a cook and a waitress trim
And the maid of the second floor,
And a strong chauffeur and a housekeeper,
And the man who tends the door."
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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All Different, But Still The Same
Some people have short hair, some have long.
Some people have thick hair; some people’s hair is all gone.
Some people have black hair, some have gray.
Some people have brown hair, some blonde, some red.
Some people’s hair a color unsaid.
Some people are short, some people are tall.
Some people will love you; some won’t like you at all.
Some people like hot weather, some like cold.
Some people are timid, some people are bold.
Some people have dark skin, some people have light.
Some people have black skin, some people have white.
Some people eat meat; some won’t touch it at all.
Some people have a good memory, some can’t recall.
Some people accept Christ, some never will.
Some people are stingy, some people give.
Some people like school, some people don’t.
Some people will excel, some people won’t.
Some people smoke cigarettes, some never will.
Some people are honest, some people steal.
Some people have book knowledge;
But don’t know the Holy Book.
Some people burn food, some people can cook.
Some people are old, some people are young.
Some people do smart things, some people do dumb.
Some people just have a diploma
Some people have degrees.
Some people do things slow, some with a breeze.
Some people are complainers, some easy to please.
Some people hate shopping, some stay in the mall.
Some people hate God, but God loves us all.
We are all different, but still the same.
When I get cut, I bleed red;
You get cut, red blood you’ll shed.
Some people are plump, some people are thin.
But we are all the same, we’re all human being.
Copyright © 2010-Phyllis Strong
poem by Phyllis Strong
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Beautiful Passion
i watch beauty take a walk one morning
by the sea as she undresses herself and begins
to carry her body to the calm waters
where she plunges herself
and in a moment she rises combing
her wet hair with her soft fingers
as she closes her eyes and
raises her head to the glorious light of the sun
she gets out of the water her breasts
in slow motion protruding to the direction
of her firm nipples as drops of water drip
down her tall and white body of
this woman who says she loves me too.
i am awed and speechless and i thank God
for this beautiful passion
his greatest creation that now i can touch and feel
and live with for all the days of my life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dance Floor[Part 2]
Come on
Youngstown
Get down, get down
Chorus:
Theres no reason why the two of us should be alone
Baby come and lemme show you what you came here for
Babygirl Im tired of waiting for your favorite song
Youve been staring at me since I walked through the door
Meet me on the dance floor
Verse 1:
Im in the club feelin alright cuz tonight Im with my crew
Just chillin hittin it with youngstown you know how we get down
Then I saw you
Instantly felt your eyes around me, all around me
I feel your vibe
And then youre acting as if youre scared standing over there
Baby dont be shy
Chorus:
Theres no reason why the two of us should be alone
This feelings so strong so baby bring it on
Baby come and lemme show you what you came here for
Cause its you I adore so meet me on the dance floor
Babygirl Im tired of waiting for your favorite song
Just come follow my lead so we can get it on
Youve been staring at me since I walked through the door
And baby I cant take it no more
Meet me on the dance floor
Verse 2:
I feel the heat as you approach me looking lovely, youre so lovely
Hearts beating fast as you come closer thinkin that I want ya
My minds racing
Thinking about the things that we could do
Just me and you it would be so right
So let your friends chill at the table
Cuz baby youre mine tonight, yeah
Chorus:
Theres no reason why the two of us should be alone
This feelings so strong so baby bring it on
Baby come and lemme show you what you came here for
Cause its you I adore so meet me on the dance floor
Babygirl Im tired of waiting for your favorite song
Just come follow my lead so we can get it on
Youve been staring at me since I walked through the door
And baby I cant take it no more
Meet me on the dance floor
Bridge:
Meet me on the dance floor
Ill make your body want more
I just wanna feel the heat make ya move your feet
Make ya dance til your back is sore
Meet me on the dance floor
Ill make your body want more
If you aint come to dance all night then you aint right
Take your body out the door
Chorus:
Theres no reason why the two of us should be alone
This feelings so strong so baby bring it on
Baby come and lemme show you what you came here for
Cause its you I adore so meet me on the dance floor
Babygirl Im tired of waiting for your favorite song
Just come follow my lead so we can get it on
Youve been staring at me since I walked through the door
And baby I cant take it no more
Meet me on the dance floor
Theres no reason why the two of us should be alone
This feelings so strong so baby bring it on
Baby come and lemme show you what you came here for
Cause its you I adore so meet me on the dance floor
Babygirl Im tired of waiting for your favorite song
Just come follow my lead so we can get it on
Youve been staring at me since I walked through the door
And baby I cant take it no more
Meet me on the dance floor
Repeat to end (fade out)
song performed by by Youngstown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside That Big Space
inside that big space
you undress yourself
and remove
what you have
what you wear
what you
hold
you dropp them
all
for they are not yours
not even
your parts
you let them
all fall from
you
you leave them
in the space
reserved for them
clothes, underwear
skin, secrets
regrets,
even hope
you leave them
like sleepers
by the door
and then through
the cold wind
you must go
and not look back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother Goddess
a circle of stars over
her head
hands holding white
flowers
her feet on top
of a snake
her long black hair
smooth skin
wavy eyelashes
slender fingers
virgin
pure
mother of all
in plaster of Paris
painted and revered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let's Sew Our Pants Together
Raise the window
Its getting hot in here
All these breathers
And all of these suckers
Shake my hand now
Pleased to meet you but
Skin is pretty
But underneath you're a monster
Are we friends now?
Am I your brother?
Can we bleed together
Are we lovers?
Let's sew our pants together
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Let's climb right in forever
6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Then won't we all be so clever?
If we sew our pants together
Wake the next morning
One below the waist
But you want poached eggs
And I want to go to the bathroom
What do we do now?
What do we make of this?
Can my blood flow
Apart from your stitch?
Let's sew our pants together
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Let's climb right in forever
6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Then won't we all be so clever?
If we sew our pants together
Lets set our hair on fire
Lets throw our hearts in the mire
Lets sell our eggs to any buyer
We've made a liar of desire
Lets sew our pants together
Lets sew our pants together
We've made a liar of desire
We've made a liar of desire
We've made a liar of desire
We've made a liar of desire
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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