Animation
thunder assumes life
of the male genitalia ruling the evening
the houses are the recipients of its fury
the bliss of the other strikes
the roofs of those who remain indifferent
to its invasion
there are sounds of moaning of the wind
but the windows know how to pretend
that they are all dead
lightning tries to provide the electricity
of the lapses
but the doors like the windows
also know how to pretend
like the house.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wistfully Watching
They explore the world
through windows,
church windows,
school windows,
two up, two down windows,
castle windows,
large windows,
small windows.
They see it all,
from blameless to guilty,
from noble to treacherous,
through windows.
From skyscraper windows,
to basement flat windows,
from paupers windows,
and palace windows
they watch, absorb, suck it in.
Later when they have grown
they will remember,
try to empathise,
rationalise
decipher the coded metaphors,
but some day
they will be demoralised
by the windows of life.
There they sit __ wistfully watching __
the children
of our times.
poem by Ruth Walters
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In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Remembering A Summer Fling
we were short of pillows
and blankets
and it was raining hard
and so cold
inside an empty room
in fact
antiquated, abandoned
and dilapidated
windows
where we hear the
thunder and see
the lightning
cast two shadows
fusing as one
in fast motion
two short lived
and swift
but i can still
prettily remember
the sweet scent
of our sweat
the moaning sounds
drowned by the
heavy rain
and the silence
of bliss
which reigned
after
we left early
morning
since then
there is no
word for
each of us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Harijan
If you utter the word harijan
You would be prosecuted.
How you dare to takeaway
Their lands, their houses
Their foods and clothings
It invites atrocities.
Provide them proper education
Provide them medical facilities
Provide them eyes and ears
Open their doors and windows
Let them assess the world
That it is theirs.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Lightning Strikes
Wont you listen cos Im at it again
Lightning striking and on that you can depend
They say that lightning never strikes the same place twice
Gods of thunder sit and watch the event
You know I take no prisoners
My backs to the wall
You know I must be going
When destiny calls
Until I feel that thunder shattering my brain
I wont stop
Rockin all night rockin all night
Until the lightning strikes again
Rockin all night rockin all night
Until the lightning strikes again
Tell your mama that youre gonna be late
But not to worry well just be rockin all night
The lightning strikes before you hear the thunder roar
Were becoming the children of the night
Im not apologizing
I am what I am
There is no compromising
I dont give a damn
Until I feel the thunder boiling in my veins
I wont stop
Rockin all night rockin all night
Until the lightning strikes again
Rockin all night rockin all night
Until the lightning strikes again
Oh no Ive lost control
Here we got its only rock n roll
The silver light is flashing
As all turns to gold
In my head voices screaming
And Im being told
If you will only listen you will hear them too
I wont stop
Rockin all night rockin all night
Until the lightning strikes again
Rockin all night rockin all night
Until the lightning strikes again
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Welcome To A Safehouse
this may look like
the house of a dove
for it has but one
pillar
for it has many windows
without an enclosure
it towers above them
almost touching
the hands of the wind
the sounds of cries
are as gentle as the early morning waves
on storms that fail to come
not much words here
just signs and
gazes
this the house of my mind
the doves of my thoughts
on the pillar of
privacy
on the windows of openness
no dogmas here
but freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Windows open, though doors shut
You find in me what you don’t find in him,
I find in you what I don’t find in her,
And, by that we are drawn to each other.
Each of us locked in safe room,
With the key in masters’ hands,
We peep at each other through windows.
Modern houses provide more windows.
No such sultry. No smoulder either.
25.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Thunderforce
Thunder- thunderforce
Thunder- thunderforce
In a lonely night- stars are shining bright
My soul is wandering- striking the universe
I am flying to a light- to a point of no return
In the name of a master- some spirit picks me up
Oh- I feel the heat
Getting attacked- Im fighting back
Oh- is this the light- the light of glory
Thunder- thunderforce- lightning strikes again
Thunder- thunderforce- lightning strikes again
Getting closer- you will see- the master- thats yourself, oh yeah
Oh- I feel the heat
Getting attacked- Im fighting back
Oh- is this the light- the light of glory
Thunder- thunderforce- lightning strikes again
Thunder- thunderforce- lightning strikes again
Thunder- thunderforce- striking the universe
Thunder- thunderforce- getting attacked- Im fighting back
Thunder- thunderforce- lightning strikes again
Thunder- thunderforce- dancing on fire- dancing in hell
Thunderforce
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Windows
Windows open vistas for us
Windows - of hearts, of minds or of eyes
Windows - which might open outward
Or inward
They bring the light on the other end to this end.
Windows converse
They open the alphabetical locks of our lips
When night weaves nets of darkness on windows
Life-spans speak out in whispers from abysses of pain
Windows then perforce remain silent
Suffer days of tongue-tied laws
Nights of oppression
And epochs of tyranny
Windows are self same stories of dreams
Of centuries
Mute testimony of chasms
Court yards and ruined houses
Evidence of rusted eons rattling with exhaustion
in tyrant time's primordium continuity
Windows have the heart of a woman
They open their body's wings of each clime
With a little waft of wind
With fragrance, sunlight, rain or moon beams.
They blow away paper-light images
And waste away life in uncharted desires.
When butterflies fly in front of windows
Eyes glued to window panes become tearful
With noontide memories.
Evenings look forward to a wayfarer passing by
When they're covered with climbers
holding forth red and white flowers
They fill closed fists with the touch of fire-flies.
Windows often insist on being kept open
They're surprised to watch cloud, birds
And the blue sky's expanse
If they're kept shut
They're afraid of the life breath of
Walls and rooms getting strangulated.
They're afraid of dwellers forsaking their houses
They also feel life's desertion
They also feel despondent
Windows are human beings!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Satyapal Anand.
Copyrights (C) All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Expectedly
houses are strong
and well insulated
in your
hinterland
but mine is on top
of the hill
kissed by the sun
it is open to the
air
they come and go
and come again
this is the house without
doors and stairs
a house deprived of
windows
and peeping holes
and cracks and
slits
this is the house of the
sun
the earth loves it
its body attached
to the grass
it has no pillars
but trees
no roof but clouds
no walls but spaces
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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House Without Windows
Pockris/tobias
Im gonna move into
A house without windows
So I wont see you walking by, walking by
With your new love
There in the darkness of
My house without windows
I will never see the stars that shine
Shine on you, and your new love
Id rather wonder through this endless night
Than to face the light of another lonely day
Knowing that you wont be there
There to share, these two arms ever again
Ill take all my broken dreams
And Ill take my broken heart
And from now on you will find me there
Crying there, trying to forget
In my house without windows
In my house without windows
And without love.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Town U.S.A
Pizza parlors,
muffler shops
7 Elevens
and I-hops
Boarded windows,
shuttered stores
Cracked windows,
unlocked doors
Dry cleaners,
Laundromats
Empty motels
Vacant flats
One street towns
No traffic lights
No city sounds
Few family fights
Friendly dogs
Friendlier people
Highest thing
Grey slate steeple
Houses with porches
rustic family farm
Weather vanes on roofs
Old American charm
Grain silos
Rusty water tower
Windmills
Water power
Sincere supplication
Sunday school prayer
Organ music, seeping out
Rising into clover scented air
Small town America
Barns and bales of hay
People still say “Good Morning”…in
…Small town U.S.A…
poem by David Whalen
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Spring Song
ALL winter through I sat alone,
Doors barred and windows shuttered fast,
And listened to the wind's faint moan,
And ghostly mutterings of the past;
And in the pauses of the rain,
'Mid whispers of dead sorrow and sin,
Love tapped upon the window pane:
I had no heart to let him in.
But now, with spring, my doors stand wide;
My windows let delight creep through;
I hear the skylark sing outside;
I see the crocus, golden new.
The pigeons on my window-sill,
Winging and wooing, flirt and flout,--
Now Love must enter if he will,
I have no heart to keep him out.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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for John on his first frustration
let me draw you a house
with an entrance gate
leading to an entrance
door and some windows
to let in air.
just that, there will be no
exit doors, no exit gate,
all the windows open,
not designed to close,
that precisely is success
and failure.
there is a sense of
entrance triumphant
ditto an exit for some
ordinary and even
inevitable failures of
our lives.
the windows are some
of our other options, we
let in air to breathe
for a while. we must.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Morning Lights Outside The Kitchen Door...
must it be habit
that makes you turn off the light
outside the kitchen
at the break of day
when the birds start to
sing their songs
you save on electricity
in the same manner that you budget
your time and
money
i've tried it once
not putting off the lights from morning
till night
some early birds that pick the early worms
passing by the house
with closed doors and windows
with lights not switched off
think that i am
dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When We See Each Other Again
away from the crowd
we step beyond the jambs of this door
beyond the sills of these windows
we stretch our minds
and we in order to survive this madness
shall pretend that we have never met
i shall be in the hold of another arms
and we shall kiss as we have long been lovers
you will not glance or if you will you must pretend
that you have never seen us
you walk further and take another direction
we too, shall do the same, but she will never notice why
we take the same ride on the plane
and you take the far look into the clouds
and then it rains and i close the pane
she is asleep and i begin talking to the nearby wall.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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the house that Tiago and Konsay left
when finally Tiago and Konsay decided to split
they left the house that they once built
by the sea
since then, when time passed
the windows become the eyes of the blind man begging
the doors refused to open to any passerby,
the hinges accumulated rust until they turned to dust
due to extreme coldness and loneliness
the clouds there turned into big black birds
that like the wind simply come and go passing through
the blind dark windows
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Penny & Me
Cigars in the summertime under the sky by the light
I can feel you read my mind
I can see it in your eyes under the moon as it plays
like music every line
There's a rug with bleeding dye under the fan in the room
Where the passions burning high by the chair
with the leopard skin under the light
It's always Penny and me tonight
On the plane step up with both my feet
Riding in seat number 3 on a flight to NYC
Got my bean in a coffee cup next to my seat
Catch the view and another good book to read
Sending me home on the friendly skies
Missing her eyes
It's always Penny and me tonight
Cause Penny and me like to roll the windows down
Turn the radio up, push the pedal to the ground
And Penny and me like to gaze at starry skies
Close our eyes, pretend to fly
It's always Penny and me tonight
Staring at a million city lights
But it's still Penny and I all alone beneath the sky
Feel the wind brushing slowly by
If I could soar I'd try to take these wings and fly
Away to where the leaves turn red
But no matter where I am instead
Singing along to feeling alright
We'll make it by in the pink moonlight
It's always Penny and me tonight
Cause Penny and me like to roll the windows down
Turn the radio up, push the pedal to the ground
And Penny and me like to gaze at starry skies
Close our eyes, pretend to fly
close our eyes pretend to fly
It's always Penny and me tonight
Penny likes to get away and drown her pain in lemonade
Penny dreams of rainy days and nights up late by the fireplace
And aimless conversations about the better days
Singing along to feeling alright, yeah
We'll make it by in the pink moonlight
It's always Penny and me tonight
Cause Penny and me like to roll the windows down
Turn the radio up, push the pedal to the ground
And Penny and me like to gaze at starry skies
Close our eyes pretend to fly
close our eyes pretend to fly
It's always Penny and me tonight
Penny and me tonight
Penny and me tonight
Penny and me tonight
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hidden Drive
there's a dirty house that's falling apart
some want to fix it but they don't know where to start
there's cobwebs and cracks in the walls
this is where rain's relief dares not to fall
no one really cares to help this place
they just look at the face
this old house is kept inside
with a disguising shell to hide
something i noticed as i passed by
at the house where hope will die
the windows were clean and new
though everywhere else the weeds grew
the windows had such an allure
i couldn't take it anymore
i gazed at the windows in awe
then through them i saw
the messy, run-down house inside
where beauty died
then i realized
something about eyes
eyes are the windows
clean and lovely for show
but behind them is the soul
sometimes your eyes will fool
the beauty and shine will not last
for one day, someone will see past.
poem by Alex Manson
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Working of the wind
Wind doesn't always topple trees
and shake houses to pieces.
Wind plays
all overwoods with weighty ghosts,
in swing in thousands
sinsing from ever branch.
Wind doesn't always rattle windows
and push, push at walls.
Wind whistles
down curl de sacs and wrorries,
dry leaves and newspappers to leap
and curl like kite tails.
Wind dosen't anways
dry out sweaty shirts and blouses.
Wind scattters
polllen dust of flowers, washes
people's and animal's faces
and combs out birs feathers.
Wind doesn't always whips up waves
in to white horses.
wind shakes up
tree shadows to dance on rivers,
to jig on grass, and hanging
latern lights to play signalman.
Wind doesn't always run wild
kicking tinny dustbin lids.
Wind makes
leafy limbs bow to red roses
and bob upand down outside windows
and make desk papers fly up in doors.
poem by Bethany Ford
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