A Swarm Of Bees....
inside a frame a boy puts some words
he does not know how to choose wisely
he plays his game and goes on without really knowing
what happens next
the words begin to move and argue with each other
some have become elves and pumpkins and they crowd inside the frame
unmanageable now
the words cross the borders of the frame and begin to grow transparent wings
flying away like a swarm of bees to the sky
and the little boy is left with nothing but the emptiness of the slate
when he grows to become a man
somewhere in the middle of his dying age
he understands what that childhood game is all about
it is about a momentary crowd, the gathering and the bothering
and then the wings and winds and wondering
until what is left is the emptiness which he knows well
as the synonym of what others have died of...
nothingness....all the bees go there.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The War Game
I am buried by time,
I am buried by love;
Like life from Herat in Afghanistan.
I am buried by the heat,
I am buried by the cold,
I am buried by the wings of nature!
Like life from Herat in Afghanistan.
Keep talking it,
Keep saying it,
Keep doing it,
Keep walking it,
Keep dancing it,
Keep swinging it,
Keep climbing it,
Keep trying it,
Keep asking it,
Keep working it,
Keep moving it,
Keep flying it,
Keep acting it,
All in the time frame to be buried;
Like the War Game in Afghanistan.
Buried under the nature of things,
With bombs exploding from left and right;
Like a message from Herat in Afghanistan.
The War Game,
All in a time frame to be buried;
Keep rolling it,
Keep changing it,
Keep trading it,
Keep building it,
Keep covering it,
Keep painting it,
Keep writing it,
Keep blocking it,
Keep cookin it,
Keep posting it,
Keep accepting it,
Keep driving it,
Keep bombing it,
Keep squeezing it,
Like the war game in Afghanistan.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Empty Picture Frame
An empty picture frame sits upon my desk
Where once upon a time a picture in it did rest
But now the frame stands lifeless and bare
Now it reminds me of a love that once was there.
As in the past the picture brought me happiness and joy
Gave me the reason to live and to write my story
To glance upon and dream of when no one was near
To speak the words of love when them she couldn't hear.
But when she left me I threw her picture away
But I kept that frame to remind me of that day
In remembrance of what she did in and out of my sight
As she was my candle but she blew out that light
So that picture frame I keep it in my plain view
So every time I see it I know what to say and what to do
As once upon a time her picture was in the frame
But now picture is gone but the memories still remain.
poem by Randy McClave
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There Is A Time When One Has Nothing Inside
THERE IS A TIME WHEN ONE HAS NOTHING INSIDE
There is a time when one has nothing inside
No birds sing
No longings demand their realization
Only the endless emptiness
Of what one has never been
The endless ambition to be
Without knowing what to be
Nothing inside
Endless hopelessness
Little fear
Waiting
No poem either
Nothing inside
But only
Emptiness
And more Emptiness
Like these lines
So small
So pathetic
So unworthy of ‘Poetry’
As if one’s life too
Were a meaningless passing of nothingness to nothing else.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poetry That Binds
i want to escape from you
how can i? i am bound to every syllable.
your words no longer laces
of red silk but chains of stainless steel
around my wrists
how perfect is this slavery of words
inside this cave of emptiness
others boast of the bliss inside
the cornucopia of your promises
the taste of every consonant
ambrosia of sweet sounds
the harmony of hollowed halls
the blissful rest that every comma provides
inside an array of images
breathe breathe breathe
i want to escape from you
but here i am stranded again on an island
of metaphors
for today she sends me a message
that she feels that i am down and i need to reconstruct
every pattern every path of this
labyrinth for me to find the final exit
of my own freedom
however
i am glad that inside this loneliness
there are many of us
hanging on clinging to the taps of our fingertips
making good at the wings of words and we begin to learn to fly
inside the little space of blue clouds and shining sun and blowing air
in this cozy corner of the heart
this poetry that binds us to bleed and yet
so blithe so light so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Said The Poet To The Analyst
My business is words. Words are like labels,
or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
I confess I am only broken by the sources of things;
as if words were counted like dead bees in the attic,
unbuckled from their yellow eyes and their dry wings.
I must always forget who one words is able to pick
out another, to manner another, until I have got
somethhing I might have said…
but did not.
Your business is watching my words. But I
admit nothing. I worth with my best, for instances,
when I can write my praise for a nickel machine,
that one night in Nevada: telling how the magic jackpot
came clacking three bells out, over the lucky screen.
But if you should say this is something it is not,
then I grow weak, remembering how my hands felt funny
and ridiculous and crowded with all
the believing money.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Frame
Frame
I could frame my
mind to what my
thoughts become,
"words spoken"
or I could frame the
night to think my
agony is gone.
I can frame almost
anything I quess,
from a heart in grief
looking for some relief,
the mailman,
the milkman,
and everything
that passes by,
A kitten at my doorstep,
is funny isn't it?
you can frame your
way through a
dragons throat.
Anything you want,
even your heart,
your truth your lies and
even the clear skies.
The hymns I sing,
my eyelids to fall asleep,
an ability not yet control.
Everything I long for
has not yet pass through,
so I keep framing
the truth the lies and all
I can think of.
But framing is not my
escape is just a lie
I keep telling myself,
and I can keep doing
it for eons.
But not yet complete,
for I can't frame my
eyes of what I see.
©ElenaToledo2009
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Not Here
Pensiveness touches me,
When the last ray of the
Sun, flutters its wings,
to fly away from this,
Woeful day...........
The green darkness,
Sits beside me to knock,
Me with the words-- not
Here, not here is your,
Root in the melancholic
Present, the shady yard,
The monotonous crickets,
The homeward birds declare--
This evening has approached,
As a must, inevitably as
Destiny drowns a good
Swimmer! I can't move,
From the far-stretched,
Growing night...........
My childhood days creep back,
To me-the coconut, the mango,
Jack fruit, guava, tamarind trees,
Crowd in single frame!
Mother lights the evening lamp,
Blows conch, father calls me,
I hear...The evening, my childhood,
And I thus become eternal,
On the canvas of a,
Standstill evening!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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You're Not My Son
You are not a bastard
you're still my son,
though you're not my son
My blood don't run
through your vein.
but my words and love does.
I saw you alone
in a quiet path,
you were there, lonely.
I looked around saw no one,
i picked you up and you smiled.
I held you close to my heart
and you did not cry.
brought you in my lonely home
and you made it whole
filling my emptiness with happiness.
My wife doubted your existent
i try to explain but she left
saying am unfaithful.
I took you away from my old world
you became my world
as i watched you grow up.
i gave you wings
but you choose to walk with me.
When you asked me about your mother
i lied.
When you ask me about my family,
i lied.
I loved you, that's no lie.
I am no longer in or of these world.
in between My WILL
i have left these words.
for i was too afraid of
how you will feel or
what you might do.
Don't cry now because
when i picked you up
you didn't cry.
though you're not my son.
You're my son.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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How The Words Are Taking The Man
let me start with one word
another word takes in another
and they begin to talk to one another
i let the third word go
and they will ask another one
to equalize both sides
they will soon invite other words
until they will make a crowd
and the words get so many
now with mouths and no ears
like the drink the words take the man
and after so man y words have been uttered
you begin to regret every word that got in
so many and now you feel so empty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Crowd
Words and music by roy orbison and joe melson
I go out with the crowd, I play the game
Pretending out loud but it dont seem the same
For the heart of the crowd is gone from sight
My part of the crowd is not with me tonight
I remember the prom, every dance with you
All the crazy things that we used to do
Sometimes wed wait for a chance
And then wed steal away
From the crowd and the dance to our hideaway
Aww, but youre gone and its not the same old game
I fall apart each time I hear your name
Guess Ill go along with the crowd, Ill make believe
That youll come back to me, run back to me
Hurry back to the crow-ow-ow-owd a-and me-e-e-e-e.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crowd
The Crowd
Artist: Roy Orbison (peak Billboard position # 26 in 1962)
Words and Music by Roy Orbison and Joe Melson
I go out with the crowd, I play the game
Pretending out loud but it don't seem the same
For the heart of the crowd is gone from sight
My part of the crowd is not with me tonight
I remember the prom, every dance with you
All the crazy things that we used to do
Sometimes we'd wait for a chance
And then we'd steal away
From the crowd and the dance to our hideaway
Aww, but you're gone and it's not the same old game
I fall apart each time I hear your name
Guess I'll go along with the crowd, I'll make believe
That you'll come back to me, run back to me
Hurry back to the crow-ow-ow-owd a-and me-e-e-e-e.
Transcribed by Ronald E. Hontz
[email protected]
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Apparition
Under the canopy of trees
Spots of sunlight
Figures cuddling like bees
A surrealistic sight!
An apparition like reality enacting a mime
As if they would be there and not move with time
I have been through it like forever
Holding onto it, scared to lose it ever
This winter morning I’m part of their game
Happy to be there frozen in the frame!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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I thought you were the one
I thought you were the one,
I thought you were for me,
I thought you were the person
an the guy of my dreams
How stupid was I
to Believe it's the truth,
The guy of my dreams is so
not like you.
As you lips lie
my eyes begin to cry.
The love between us died,
And there is nothin left between
you an I.
I should have known
that I had been used,
I should of known that my
love for you was fake,
an saying those three words
now is too late.
You should of been real
You should have been true.
You should have felt the
love i had for you.
As I'm walkin away,
wit no words to say,
Im leaving you behind,
its all your fault,
that we have to be a part,
I dont kno you any more,
maybe deep inside I do,
but just remember,
that tiny hole that
you have inside,
is a missing spot
of the love i had for you.
poem by Heather Noble
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Bland
his words are bland
and i think i understand
inside his cell
darkness and emptiness
and silence
words
becoming intense
he felt all of them
like pins
and here you are disturbed
angry
and wanting to kill
what mockingbird is there
if only you
have felt what drowning is
on that well
where the water runs dry
you would not have
become like him
engulfed by this huge mouth
of emptiness
vomited you run the streets
endlessly without direction
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Picture Frames
Picture frames that enclose the art
make the art stand out.
If the frame is not just right
better to do without.
For the artist had in their mind
what the frame should be.
But the framer who made the frame
did not know what the art would be.
So acquiring the knack of pairing them
is a talent all its own.
The picture itself cannot speak out
but it has always known
what its frame should be.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Beautiful Strange
Strangely beautiful
Beautiful strange
That's what we said
instead of the name
If U count the times
He took all the blame
U would find the reason
behind the game
In the darkness
we must look 4 the way
Words so strange
that only the mind can say
If it makes no mind
what color or holy day
why is this game
the only one that we play
Dive inside your soul if U wanna know
the light inside the darkness 4ever glows
The son is like the diamond inside the coal
and like an embryo it grows and grows
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Between Our Own Realities
between our realities
are the waters of privacy
and for one who does not flow
like what others do
the ripples of misunderstanding
begin to behave as whirlpools
in our minds
the banks of the rivers are far
and we who desire the harmony
of the clouds and their mirrors
begin to build the bridges of words
and symbols
between us now is this poem
and if you have been with me
upon the graces of time and
the courtesy of space
there could have been more to
this poem, and to those words
because between the emptiness
of air, something like a beating heart
a warm hug could have done better.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Next Big Thing
hello
it's me
I'm returning your call
it's monday wednesday friday
between noon and three
he says I
usually just let the phone ring
but I've always got a minute of time
for the next big thing
and I wonder
how can he see where he's going
with those dollar signs in front of his eyes?
I say thank you
for your interest
but my thing is already
just the right size
hello
it's me
yes I'll play for the door
nothing more
on a tuesday
he says baby
what is your name
I forgot
he says baby
tell me again
are you really hot
and I think
he does not hear what I'm saying
he's just looking at my eight by ten
and wondering about
the part that was left out
does she have a body
that will really draw them in?
how much do you want
how much are you willing to do
baby this is no business
for a sweet little girl like you
can you play the game
act it out
frame for frame
do you know your lines
let's hear them one more time
but I'd rather pay my dues
to the six people
sitting at the bar
than to all those men
in their business suits
who say I'll take you away from this
if you'll just
get in the car
song performed by by Ani DiFranco from Not So Soft
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Poet
Who are you now?
By the same name?
By the same game?
Spark the same flame?
Shame.
Such a sweet girl all the same.
Go consume yourself at uni.
Uni, what a wonderful place
A frame to frame the endless shame.
But congratulations at the end all the same.
"your lame"
And yes I fell for your words, and your tongue, and your verse
Yes it hurt.
But now? Just disturbed is the word.
Unravel yourself, and wind your limbs round a naked flame
Get burnt.
Get burnt.
Get burnt again.
Don't gain, just play.
Just play in your new way.
You're nothing
You're the same.
It's a shame.
poem by Peggy Pollock
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The Left And The Right
the left and the right
they learn to co-exist
numbers and words
poetry and prose
mediocrity and seriousness
money and love
passions and reservations
the flowers and the bees
i am making a balance
of the yin and the yang
the crowd and solitude
heaven and hell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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