A Poem For You
in the rush hours of my life
those times when breakfast is even set aside
or prayers reset
or as he said it once
when dreams
some too personal dreams are deferred
because of a very important matter
concerning the usual
bread and butter
when the stars are not seen
or they exist not at all
on evenings which are cold and
when our bodies are
too tired
no mistake about it
i always take time to scribble some notes
unhampered by style
or what ever they say after
this poem
for instance
a blank page so hungry
that i stop
and bend
just to feed it with some
words to
munch
so here is it. Feel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Blank Page Blues
I know we have all done it,
sat in front of a pristine white sheet of paper
and got ready to write something down,
and then we are confronted
with the blank page blues.
The words of inspiration
then scurry and hide away.
You are left with pen in hand,
scratching your head
wondering what to say.
There is no cure for this syndrome;
writers get it all the time.
Some call it a writer’s block,
when nothing comes into your head.
You sit in front of a blank page.
You know what you want to write,
then someone disturbs you
and the words disappear out of sight.
How many times have we had that?
We sit down to write our masterpiece
and the telephone rings,
or someone shouts your dinner is getting cold.
You feel like screaming,
but you take it on the chin.
You lay down your pen,
answer the phone or have your dinner,
and when you come back,
the blank page confronts you.
Still you cannot write anything on it.
You stare at it for hours,
until finally you get tired
and journey off to bed.
Hoping and hoping tomorrow
a little peace, it will bring
and your words on that blank page
will really begin to sing.
10 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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I Am Too
I AM TOO TIRED TO WRITE A GOOD POEM
I am too tired to write a good poem
I am too cold also
I have been out all day in the cold and the rain
I have been doing errands since early in the morning
I babysat for four hours in the afternoon
I went out again in the cold and rain to buy a few groceries
I tried to write and could not
I read and overate a few times
I tried to write
But I could not
I am very tired now
A poem should not be a simple clear description of one’s own mood at the moment
I am too tired to write a good poem
But I try to write
And this is the result
A poor poem indeed.
I AM GRATEFUL FOR THE PARENTS I HAD AND HAVE
I am grateful for the parents I had and have
They are still with me
I miss them
Sometimes they appear in my dreams
When I am walking I think of them
I see them at various ages of their lives
My father young tall strong
My mother smiling kind warm in strong middle age
My father bent on his way to the senior citizens
My mother in a wheelchair no longer even half herself
Or in the pictures of them in their youth
As I never saw them in life
I think of them and miss them
Their dreams their loves are in me
Yesterday I was with a great – grandchild of theirs
Who they never have seen or will see
How happy that smiling calm child would have made them
Life is difficult and long and filled with loss and blessing
How I will love and miss my parents always
How they still live in me
And hopefully in what comes after me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Blank Page
Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.
Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.
Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.
Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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I Am Too Tired To Write A Good Poem
I AM TOO TIRED TO WRITE A GOOD POEM
I am too tired to write a good poem
I am too cold also
I have been out all day in the cold and the rain
I have been doing errands since early in the morning
I babysat for four hours in the afternoon
I went out again in the cold and rain to buy a few groceries
I tried to write and could not
I read and overate a few times
I tried to write
But I could not
I am very tired now
A poem should not be a simple clear description of one’s own mood at the moment
I am too tired to write a good poem
But I try to write
And this is the result
A poor poem indeed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The fear...
Yet another blank page I see before me,
Waiting to be bathed in my words,
Emotions spill out like a fountain of feelings,
The emptiness scares me for what if I may not fill it,
What if I cannot bring the light of life to my dreams,
The loneliness of a barren heart failing me,
That I may fall deeper into complete nothingness,
Shall my dreams ever cease to be?
Will my words dry up and my heart wither?
Yet once again my story springs to life upon the page,
And my fear is but a memory...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Blank Page
Blank Page
This new blank page, a word processor page, I cannot touch. I ought to leave it this
way, just look at it and dream of what I could have written on it. If I delet the words
I have written now, it will be blank again, no history, no crumbled up sheet of paper
in the wastebasket. For now it is too late but I might erase it when I come to an end.
My wife was in Johannesburg once for surgery, being born in Congo but light skinned
and travelling on a Portuguese passport, she boarded a bus for the blacks.
Great consternation, she was told by police to go on the white only bus since she
was Portuguese. Racism and anti Semitism are so stupid, it makes no sense, one race
thinks it is superior to others. Now it is the Moslems who are feeling the surge
of ignorance. We want them to be more like us and not Insist of doing their own things.
In Israel, for instance the European Jews feel vastly superior to Arab Jews, This in a state
that is an artificial construct. The culture of Europe in the Middle East. We know Israel,
as it exist today must come to an end. So there I said it, this white virtual sheet has been
befouled by an opinion no one wants to know about. So what do I do know? Erase this
page so it is blank again and I can write about the moon?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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In Dreams (Life Poem)
In dreams we feel the impossible is easy
In dreams we flee the burdens of this life
In dreams we fly to worlds that don’t exist
In dreams we find the love that cannot be
In dreams we follow a path that never ends
In dreams we fall forever in a nightmare chase.
In dreams we live the jumbled fragments of our lives.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Making Poetry
Why did I make a poem?
It's more than you can imagine
It's not about black or white
Because the power of poetry that I'm dumbfounded
Look at the whole Bible, everything is poetry {not, but a holy book down from Allah is the truth}
Abstract ideas of science are all from the poem
Idealism actual human life is poetry
I'm just trying to be honest...
Creating poetry for me is more than anything
Not me want to be Jesus or Muhammad {but imitate their pious}
But I do not know what my purpose {paradise}
Only the most important is to produce poetry
I just write from the unreal world
Introduce something to people here
Are they willing to accept it or not does not matter
Since the poetry of the poem is the image of eternity
Who continue to fly and only revealed to the seeker
Poetry for me is more important than life
More important than my beloved
More important than my brother
Because the poem can represent any
Why did I make a poem?
When you reject the poem in your life
It has a form of poem to poem
Actually you can not escape from poetry
But you did not realize it, be aware of?
Indeed the poem is really real
Do you not believe how strong poetry
Look at all the countries in the world today
All poems must have an ideology
Ideology of all States is poetry
Do you still deny its power?
From now on, deep down consider
The poem is more than just blank words without the influence
(30 April 2002)
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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The Poem I Most Love
THE POEM I MOST LOVE
The poem I most love
Was written to me by my dreams
Long before I was born
It did not know its name
But came from somewhere else deep inside
The beyond of God-
I do not know its name
I can only feel and hear it again and again
When the music of some other time
Some other life I lived once and have lost
Returns to me.
The poem I most love
Is the life which has been
And will never come again
Seeing it and hearing it
I know we human beings are dreams and dreams again always dreams
And never ever to be finally at peace and true
But longing and longing for what we were and not were
What we lived and did not live
What we will never be again
And always are.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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a poem for Ms. UNL
you may want a poem
for your life, maybe tomorrow, something that you can borrow
life,
a lifeful of life, a bed of sex not roses, a pool of orgasms
not the usual organisms that you feed
to kill the killing hours, not doves or kittens
a number of hugs, those that make you warm and huggable
i want to give you these poems today,
perhaps in my wet dreams, in my dirty mind,
perhaps i will swallow the whole of your body
and savor your soul
in the poems that i will write for you,
and perhaps you may like them
sublimally,
subconsciously, like the way you sometimes pretend to hate my smell,
they way you detest my
virtual presence,
but i know you well enough,
you only like something small and kind
this kiss
this little respect from my simple line
something like
i miss you
and be good, sleep tight, and have some sweet dreams
my dear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Splash
the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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After All Hymn
After all I am human
And I get mad sometimes
Sometimes it is hard for me to think of something else in
Order to get rid of my anger
But I think I have to replace it with poetry
Poetry is my life
And I live writing poetry
Is poetry just a scribbling that doesn't make sense?
No
Poetry are feelings that are wrtten on a piece of paper or in the computer Scream
Poetry makes sense because every word I carefully select
And there are other words that might pop out of my mind
That I connect with the words in my heart
Do I use strong words in my poetry?
Yes I use strong words
Do I offend my readers with the words I pick?
That Is something that I try not to do
AAafter all
I am human and I do make mistakes
But after I make mistakes I try to move to the next step so I never get Stuck with my mistake
Yes poetry is my voice that is a message that I am trying hard to give to My readers
There are so many different styles of poetry
Haiku, rhiming, and free style
But I always stick with the free style of poetry
I find that it is the style that sooths me just fine
After all
I try very hard to live a modest life that is very plain and simple
From the one I lived 16 years ago
What is wrong to live a life of luxury to me?
First I need to have the money to live a luxurious life
The second part is that I don't want anything to do with a luxurious life
Because I am happy living my simple life
And I hope to live that simple life forever
I want to have dreams only and I don't wish them to turn into reality in My Life
Because I know that my dreams will be dreams
No I can't sell my dreams
Because my dreams are only fantasies that I face every night when I sleep In my bed
And after all I will always be human
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Let Me Not Forget
If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life
then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
As my days pass in the crowded market of this world
and my hands grow full with the daily profits,
let me ever feel that I have gained nothing
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting,
when I spread my bed low in the dust,
let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me
---let me not forget a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound
and the laughter there is loud,
let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house
---let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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We Let It Rock... You Let It Roll
(written by rudolf schenker and klaus meine)
We come to you through a storm of lightning
To drive this place totally insane
Another show that really keeps us fighting
For what it takes to blow your mind away
Hey you, are you ready for tonight?
Can you hear me now? let me hear you too
We come to you through a wall of thunder
Electrified by the sound of the guitars
Hey you, are you ready for tonight?
Can you see me now? I wanna see you out there
(we let it rock) to free your energy
(you let it roll) come on, get on your feet
(we let it rock) to feed your hungry dreams
(you let it roll) live to the ecstasy
We come to you through a burst of fire
Energized by the feedback of the crowd
Hey you, are you ready for tonight?
Can you feel me now? can you feel the groove?
(we let it rock) to free your energy
(you let it roll) come on, get on your feet
(we let it rock) to feed your hungry dreams
(you let it roll) live to the ecstasy
Come on and rock
Yeah
(we let it rock) hey, you people out there
(you let it roll) you can bet your ass that we wont stop today
(we let it rock) till everybody else gets crazy
(you let it roll)
(we let it rock) yeah, come on
(you let it roll) ow, get on your feet
(we let it rock) Ill feed your hungry dreams
(you let it roll) live to the ecstasy
(we let it rock)
(you let it roll) come on, get on your feet
(we let it rock) free your energy
(you let it roll) live to the ecstasy
(we let it rock)
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Happened When The Lights Went Out
early that evening
there was a total blackout in the city
for an unknown
cause again, and
this happens not just for that
lonely time
only but for the nth time
when the hours are lonelier
than usual, and
to make use of those dark hours
since we see nothing
more important to do than read,
we spend the hours, and hours
talking,
it is you who is doing most
of the talking, choosing the words,
and arranging them
to perhaps please me, but i was
not there anymore,
i was then, and am mostly,
a wanderer amidst the forest of your
sentences,
and i feel like your are sentencing
me into a listener imprisoned
in those bars of
senseless words, and i
as i once told you, always escape
as a swift bird,
and you as usual do not notice it
when i am already
far away into my own
kind of personal homeland
where you cannot find me
or catch me
naked and innocent like a native,
and i do not hear about you anymore
and when i come back
and take the shape of a man
you are already fast asleep and then
i step silently inside the room
via an open window
slip on the bed wet with your tears
and then i gently sleep beside you
and i cannot sleep that night
as i judge myself guilty of an injustice
which i have inflicted against
love and trust
a la Cupid to
Psyche,
and then i, before my own
sleepy eyes,
blow that stupid candle
away
and then it is so dark
deep into the night i journey
burdened
like one of the Furies
into the
cliffs of Sisyphus.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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See You In Your Dreams
The partys over, and babys in the corner
Shes all alone for the night
You pick up the phone, you want to go home
Well dry your eyes, its alright, its alright
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
When youre in the room, youre home too soon
You cant get me out of your mind
And you get in bed, you cover your head
My letter to you is signed
And this is what Im sayin
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Time To Think
No time to think, no time for dreams
No time for anything it seems.
No time to stop, no time to waste,
No time for anything but haste.
No time to wonder at the snow,
No time to watch our children grow.
But time enough to race about
And time enough to scream and shout.
And time enough to rush, rush, rush,
And time enough to push, push, push.
But no time to care or to smile,
No time to ramble for a while.
No time to sit, no time time to stand,
No time to shake you by the hand.
No time to stop, no time to blink
But most of all no time to think
poem by Paul Anthony
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Double Faced Poet
double faced poet
like day and night
light and darkness,
the bad side of
the other good side,
that is not what i
really mean,
it is not about good
and/or evil, it is about
how we do things:
poetry at night
and bread and butter
during the day, something
that makes the terror
of our creativity,
moon and sun
they may not come together
but they must exist
to make the whole
narration of a complete event.
rushing myself to write a poem
and then rethinking things over
a decision between life and/or death
liberty and/or prison, and so on and so forth,
this time, as you read, it is poetry.
as i sign out, it will be another face of me.
it is something that you cannot read.
it is hidden by the clouds
behind the sun and the moon and the stars.
it is something that disgusts me.
it is something that i do most of the time.
apart from this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dream On
Dream on baby, dream on
They might never seem to come true,
But dream on, baby, dream on.
Cause you never know when one will find you.
Dream on baby, dream on.
Though the critics and sceptics cry,
Dream on you will, baby, dream on.
Cause one day you'll be waving them goodbye.
Dream on baby, dream on,
There's a reason that we have dreams.
Dream on baby, dream on.
You'll catch some dreams, though far away they seem.
Dream on, baby, dream on.
No, you probably won't get every one,
But isn't that what dreams are for?
Dreams, they propel us to leap out and have fun.
Dreams, where we run to who-knows-where,
Where we do things we can only imagine.
Dreams, where we find solace in times of despair:
Where ordinary men become legends.
Dreams breath life into our bodies,
Give us purpose in our life, carry us on,
Carry us on through the toughest time,
When all glimmer of hope is gone.
So shut your door, tuck yourself in,
Turn out the lights, and dream away.
Life's tough, now's time to escape awhile.
Time to dream about a happier day.
Dream on, baby, dream on.
Dreams come true,
So dream on.
One day, they'll find you.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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