After That Love Long Gone
this i will tell you or i may not tell you at all
i have to think about a choice
i still have the scar, call it a souvenir.
whatever that is,
a proper word fitting like dado joints
my pride is
i am healed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Many
Fitting and proper,
To accept the circumstances and to move on;
But the conclusion is always occupied by your muse.
Many dates,
Many lovers,
many years,
And with much prayers!
But fitting and proper to your muse;
For a person who loves silver will not be satisfied with silver!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Old scar, new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
Old scar on the hand
New scar on the head
Same pain, different trouble
First came shock
Then hurt became blue
Blue’s gone leaving scar
Old scar, white scar
New scar, hidden well
When morning’s gone, nights always come
Craving old scar, leaving new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Souvenir
When you're fed up shedding too many tears
And you're memories seem like just so many souvenirs
I will come to you to ease the pain
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Everything is gonna come right in the end
When you're crying like a poor little child
And you're feeling like you never could be reconciled
Don't forget a word of what I'm saying
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Everything is gonna come right in the end
Well, I can hold you too tight
I could never let you go
But that wouldn't be right
So, why don't you let me know (let me know)
What you want to do
Everybody's got a handful of fear
But tomorrow it may only be a souvenir
Of the way it was 'til it went away
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Every little thing is gonna come right in the end
Well, I can hold you too tight
I could never let you go
But that wouldn't be right
So, why don't you let me know
What you want to do
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Every little thing is gonna come right in the end
Souvenir
No, not another souvenir
No, no, no, no, no souvenir
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Minding The Stabbing Silence in Bed
when we sleep tonight
we sleep
as tightly as screws and
bolts
as dado joints
perfectly fit without any space
for a prayer
or even a simple conversation
to patch up
what was broken
to mend the heart
to fence the souls
torn apart
by so much darkness
in this silence.
actually, i do not
mind anymore
i know
what unfinished is...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Sigh into the Present Air...
things would have been better
if left untouched
like some women opting to
become virgins
not having seen any man
nor thought
of masculine symbols
like nature
the forest would have been better
if its trees are left
uncut
the weeds tall like grown up natives
the grasses spreading
without the
artificiality of
the manicure
of the mower
like a river flooding the land
overfilling banks
words would have been better
if not uttered
like raw emotions like
sushi
that you savor with your tongue
how delicious to see
all these things
and feelings
unadulterated by explanations
or justifications
of reason that does not want to be overpowered
by the innocence of ignorance
no apple on the esophagus
none about analysis
just plain description of what is there
nothing about
additions
or conceptualizations
i would have wanted
my love to be like this
but look at it now
this heart folded like an origami
deceiving you with a stork
feelings cut into pieces of
graffiti of pent up emotions
what they ought to be
what they must or
should have been
dado joints fitting into
rules
or universal concepts
lacking now
the originality of
truth...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Friends
My childhood was such a magical time. My memory takes me back
so many years ago. I had a little friend, my best buddie,
we played together all the time.
We walked the dusty country roads, hand in hand.
One day my little friend showed me a gift from her sister.
She said, "this is a souvenir." She had a special place
on her dresser for this object.
At that time I did to know the word souvenir. I only know she
treated this object almost as it was sacred.
I remember thinking to myself, "I wish I had a souvenir," and
I wondered if ever I would own such a treasure.
Now, I realize the best souvenir I could ever have is those
wonderful childhood memories.
Maybe one day my friend and I will hold hands and walk another
dusty road --- and remember WHEN.
poem by Bertha Gonzalez
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Souvenirs
When youre fed up shedding too many tears
And your memory seems like just so
Many souvenirs
I will come to you to ease the pain
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Everything is gonna come right in the end
When youre crying like a poor little child
And you feel like you never could
Be reconciled
Dont forget a word of what Im saying - oh
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Everything is gonna come right in the end
Well, I can hold you too tight
I could never let you go
But that wouldnt be right
So, why dont you let me know (let me know)
Let me know what you want to do
Everybodys got a handful of fear
But tomorrow it may only be a souvenir
Of the way it is til it went away
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Everything is gonna come right in the end
Well, I can hold you too tight
I could never let you go
But that wouldnt be right
So, why dont you let me know
Let me know what you want to do
If you want me, tell me now
If I can be of any help, tell me how
Let me love you like a friend
Everything is gonna come right in the end
Souvenir
No, not another souvenir
No, no, no, no, no, souvenir
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bereft of Explication Proper...
Bereft of explication proper would I be to define,
Every aspect of your essence- of your presence, divine!
Remiss would I be yet, if but an attempt valiant, were not taken-
Alas, causative are thee- for my soul has awakened!
Most fitting, appareled are thee in locks aflame:
For I am enamored- and you are virtuously, to blame!
Coupled is this, with oculus the most resplendent blue:
I am enraptured replete, obligation owed their hue!
Serenity, beautificence- but two words toward articulation,
Many more needed still though for proper delimitation!
The Heavens surely smile upon thee, and all you touch-
Intimate not all do I, yet know surely do I this much!
Know not could I a more fitting homage than to expound,
The world- far more felicitous, because you are around!
Maurice Harris,21 March 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Even if the wound is healed, the scar of it remains.
Foolish Pride
There are times, we have what's called,
foolish pride and then there comes a time,
when we should cast it aside! Having too
much pride, can stand in your way and in
many a case, it just doesn't pay! You have
to know, when to say, enough, is enough,
why wait, until it's worse and the going, gets
rough? In some instances, it's okay to have
a little pride, be aware, when it gets out of
control, as too much of anything, can make
you, a lost soul! Don't let pride, stand in your
way, if you want to get someone's attention,
do it, in the proper manor and you won't have
any, intervention. So there you have it, you
know what too much pride, can do, try to
be cognizant, of what is, the best for you!
poem by Audrey Heller
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There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with.
quote by Harry Crews
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scars of the ego.
The fall of the leaf is the scar of the tree.
The scar indicates the tree’s seasoned strength.
The loss of the love is the scar of the ego.
The scar reminds the ego of its worth
23.09.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A hero of his clime
This morning, as I cut into
the tough flesh of the huge tomato
with its brown, half-healed scar
like an old sabre wound from some great battle,
the thought came, if you can call
a vegetable, heroic, and why not,
then this old bruiser is a hero…
its red proud chest so stalwart set,
saying, I saw the season through..
come rain, come shine, come wind
and foul weather - what’s going on these days? –
I saw it all – and more than that –
I grew it – my way… and if they said,
as mortals do –
as if they knew a tom that’s true –
you’re not for us – I’ll say to you –
I saw two thousand seven through -
I lived it – my way…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Thick skins
A scar for the scar is bravery.
To ignore a scar is chivalry.
To forgive it is exemplary.
Then, you must have a thick skin
To be branded a coward.
30.06.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peacefully He Died
I had no choice to where to be born
But if I could choose where to die
I would choose where the Lilacs grow
And where the river runs wide.
I would go where no War has been
And from hate, no one has died
I would go where the Birds fly high
And where the tree tops touch the sky.
I would go where the water is blue
And where the land is painted green
I would go where nature plays her song
And it is nothing more than serene.
For a Man lives such a mournful life
And I think it is just fitting and right
For him to find His own place to go
When it becomes His time to die.
For I would like to go where the word is peace
When it becomes my time to go
Where sadness and pain is never felt
And their aftermath is never known.
I would like to go where hunger is fed
And misery is a forgotten word
I would like to go where love is sewn
And where, “ I don’t care” is never heard.
So when it becomes my time to leave
I won’t go with Mans sorrows or fears
I hope to be buried in a peaceful place
And I hope not, to cause much tears.
For where to be born I had no choice
But where to choose to finally lie
I would like to go where on my tombstone they’d write,
“Hate and Sorrow Knew His Name, But Peacefully Here He Died”.....
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Art of Pain
Whether physical, whether emotional
Whether healed completely, whether leaving scar
Whether obvious, whether hidden well
Pain is the world of nightmare
Whether mild, whether severe
Occasionally hurt, or continue disturbing
Whether acceptable risk, whether unwelcome trouble
Pain is the word of torment
By accident, by sacrifice
By breaking bad, by doing right
Struck by grief, intensified by guilt
Pain is the level of endurance
Loved for angst, hated for weakness
The pleasure for S, the need for M
Whether understood, whether denied
Pain is an honest friend
In the body, in the heart
In trying to tend, or just watching
In the cry, in the smile
Pain is the fight of will
The mortal call, the life sign
The spring of fear, the revenge promise
The aching feeling, the play of darkness
Pain is the edge of sanity
Wishing the end of this suffering
Wondering the cause of this bitterness
Is it strength or is it quicksand?
Pain is a miserable thing
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Pride (the 7 deadly sins)
What exactly does the word pridefulness imply
lacking humility although everything in your life
was given to you by the one that you still deny
your lack of faith and trust in God
can you not hear him when he cries
some call it a virtue, but man you must be blind
someday your pride will hurt you
and he will be there when you die
but I bet you he still loves you
and he will show you how to fly
but first you need to let him in
first you need to lose your pride
poem by Jillian Keenan
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Peacefully, He Died
I had no choice where to be born
But if I could choose where to die
I'd choose where the lilacs grow,
And where the river runs wide.
I'd go where no war has been
And from hate, no one has died
I'd go where the birds fly high,
And the tree tops touch the sky.
I'd go where the water is blue
And the plains are painted green
I'd go where nature sings her song,
And the song is nothing more than serene.
A man lives such a mournful life
And I think it is fitting and right
For Him to find His own place to go,
When it becomes His time to die.
I like to go where the word is peace
When it becomes my time to go
Where sadness and pain is never felt,
And their aftermaths is never known.
I'd like to go where hunger is fed
And misery is a forgotten word
I like to go where love is sewn,
And where 'I Don't Care', is never heard.
When it becomes my time to leave
I wont go with mans sorrows or fears
I hope to be buried in a peaceful place,
And I hope not, to cause much tears.
Where to be born, I had no choice
But where to choose for me to finally lie,
I like to go where on my tomb they would write,
'Hate and Sorrow Knew His Name, But Peacefully Here He Died'..
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wound
a wound will always
be a wound.
a scar may come
to say you are healed
but soon it will
remember the wound.
perhaps you have not
loved enough
to learn from those
whose hearts
are broken, they
say: forgive and forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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