Another Bright Day
you start your life early, as usual, four in the morning
when the rest are still asleep
you start organizing your thoughts for the day
hopefully a brighter one
unlike yesterday's storm
when the house was closed
when there is nothing practical about
opening a window
you like this feeling of having written
another poem
a brighter one perfumed with delight
you write the last line
and put there the word
happiness
and then you put the graphics
of a daisy where a butterfly
flutters its proboscis
tickling the center of the
pistil of this flower
that you offer
for yourself
it is a bright day
you open the door remembering some dance steps
in the green grass of your father's yard
the roses that mother always love
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When You Are Gone I Must Survive
when you are gone
i must find a way to find myself
another way
another way of looking at
an old house
another style of opening
the same door
shaping my lips to utter
the same word
in a manner
that despite the pain
another lovely poem
must be written
i shall wake at a different
time and open the window
that you used to open for me
i will look for the stars again
on a brighter flicker
on a sweeter twinkle
i must survive
i am still alive
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Critiques
when they read your poem
and find some fleas there
and they scratch their heads
like saying: this is bad, this is really bad
and they crumple your poem
and throw it in their waste basket
and they junk the best poem you
have written taking you days and days to revise it
like it is a composition
of another nincompoop. a moron, a lesser kind of
the human being
like a bubble, a bumble, a bum, a belle, a keg,
a piece of feces
a ning nang nang nang
well, write another one.do not ever stop writing.
if you find the one that they have thrown in the waste basket
again, by chance,
redeem it,
take it back and iron out what difference have you
with that critique
(who has not written even a poem for his dog)
have patience. and always remember
you did not write the poem for him
you write it for you and your lover
and your loved one,
and another lover and many more lovers
of life and its
ecstacies
till kingdom come
be patient.
be ever patient.
it is you who has
seen the light. not them.
open another door.
go inside where your lovers dwell.
they will kiss you.
they will clap their hands
and drink beer with you.
and it will be dark again,
and you cannot sleep after you make love.
three times on the floor
and there and then
in your nudity
another voice comes inside your ears
asking that you write
about a floating blue butterfly
looking for the opening
of an orange
flower
another poem shall be written
early morning
be glad
the voice is still there
your shrink may tell you to name the voice.
for he thinks you are schizephrenic
to the max
do not tell him.
it is your secret with God.
be glad.write it.now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Is Just An Exercise
this poem
is a morning poem
i write it when
the sun begins to peep
between the two hills
where my house
stands
i write it when the dews
are still alive
glistening with life
on the green leaves
on the white petals
of the flowers
i write it when the birds
start to chirp
and in flocks start
to leave the trees
where they
sleep for the
whole dark night
oh, this poem is nothing
it is just an idea
just an exercise of the mind
this morning
just to assure myself
that i am still a rational being
in touch with art
honed to the skills
of humanity
oh, this is just nothing
but a prelude
to my day
a day
when we wish
we are not thinking at all
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Went Out This Morning/ To Find A Poem
I WENT OUT THIS MORNING/TO FIND A POEM
I went out this morning
To find a poem-
But the heat was too great
The sun too strong
I had to find the shade instead
And finding it
I sat down on a green metal bench
And waited for
The line which
Might mean a poem
Has been written.
Instead a cool breeze
And a sense of rest and happiness
Came to me.
Life as it is now is a poem for me-
I don't know how long it will last
But here now
How happy I am
As this small poem is being written now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Is My Poem
This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.
This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.
This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.
This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.
This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.
This is my poem of open-ended freedom.
This is my poem breathing life into motion.
This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.
And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..
poem by Patti Masterman
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I Wanted A Poem In The Early Morning-Even Before The Darkness Had Gone
I WANTED A POEM IN THE EARLY MORNING
I wanted a poem in the early morning
Even before the darkness had gone-
I wanted to hear words
That meant music
That said I was alive and could write-
I wanted a poem in the early morning
So that I could be justified
For the rest of the day-
Time and again I have written that poem
I write it now -
How wonderful when it flows as if it is real
I may never know that it is
But in writing it, thank God, I feel alive and blessed
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem For Those Who Are Sad
did Octavio say that happiness
and charm are cliches?
did he really mean that he
shall write about those who
labor in pain
about those who stopped
smiling because of the
harsh rain
about those who hide
because of the coming storm?
he could be right
not writing about the cliches of
happy days
for they have all enough
that make the sweet syrups
of their eating lives
let me write a poem for those
who are sad
for those who have less
let me write about the opening
of a flower
about the butterflies moving
out from their cocoons
let me write about the
end of the bitter days
for they have less and now
they may have more
through my lines
let me write about the
rising of the sun
the waking up of the boy
from his sleep
and the beginning
of his play on the yard
with his bike
let me write more
about what i really like...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Are The World - Usa For Africa 1985
There comes a time when we need a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying, oh, and its time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all
We cant go on pretending day by day
That someone, somewhere will soon make a change
Were all a part of gods great big family
And the truth, you know love is all we need
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin
Theres a choice were makin
Were savin our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me
Well, send them you your heart so they know that someone cares
And their lives will be stronger and free
As God has shown us by turning stone to bread
And so we all must lend a helping hand
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin
Whoa, theres a choice were makin
Were savin our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me
When youre down and out
There seems no hope at all
But if you just believe
Theres no way we can fall
Well, well, well, let us realize
Oh, that one change can only come
When we stand together as one
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin
Theres a choice were makin
Were savin our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin
Theres a choice were makin
Were saving our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me
We are the world (we are the world)
We are the children (we are the children)
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin (so lets start giving)
Theres a choice were making
Were saving our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me (all right, let me hear you)
We are the world (we are the world)
We are the children (said we are the children)
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin (lets start givin)
Theres a choice were makin
Were saving our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me, come on now let me hear you
We are the world (we are the world)
We are the children (we are the children)
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start giving (so lets start givin)
Theres a choice were making
Were savin our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me, yeah, yeah
We are the world (we are the world)
We are the children (we are the children)
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start giving (so lets start givin)
Theres a choice were makin
Were savin our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me
We are the world (we are the world)
We are the children (we are the children)
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin (so lets start giving)
Theres a choice were makin
Were savin our own lives
Its true, well make a better day
Just you and me
We are the world (we are the world)
We are the children (we are the children)
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So lets start givin
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A reversible trend
you are reversing the cycle
it is clearly written i bible
no one is moving from stand
we only misguide and understand
why do we think more and sink?
we spent energy unnecessarily and think
where is need to raise noise or bark?
why start at night should shine or spark?
life is as tidy as dawn
where morning star sparks and blink
after all the midnight storm
sun welcomes the morning warm......
Moon and stars to provide calm and cool
nights to be spent by poets and fools
midnight storm may rise and subside
the happiness and joy may permanently reside
All worries are over by rising sun
we walk up early and make run
life is to be spent with worry or fun
life is with risk at the point of gun
we may go as usual in our way
the realities may be far away
we simply draw the conclusion
rest everything stays as big question
life is to lived as such
there is nothing left as much
I draw the lines and enjoy
there enough to see with joy
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written
THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN
There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.
Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.
When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.
How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.
How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.
It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Life Art
Life Art
I want to write you a poem.
One that contains no verses
no words
how long it will be
I cannot tell.
It will be a poem that you can see through
yet it will shade you from the sun
a simple lyric
as complex as a crossword
I want it to be something
that you carry through your day
every day
I don’t know if I can write that poem
Or if indeed that poem can be written at all
So instead I am with you
Of you
And slowly together
we are writing our very own poem
Not on a page
Or in a lost notebook
But in the café
and in the street
At a table
In our bed
Every day we add another line
another image
another verse
and I know that with every word that we write
I want it to be the longest poem
That has ever been written.
poem by Andy Houlihan
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Good Morning, Good Morning
Nothing to do to save his life call his wife in
Nothing to say but what a day how's your boy been
Nothing to do it's up to you
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
Going to work don't want to go feeling low down
Heading for home you start to roam then you're in town
Everybody knows there's nothing doing
Everything is closed it's like a ruin
Everyone you see is half asleep.
And you're on your own you're in the street
Good morning, good morning...
After a while you start to smile now you feel cool.
Then you decide to take a walk by the old school.
Nothing has changed it's still the same
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
People running round it's five o'clock.
Everywhere in town is getting dark.
Everyone you see is full of life.
It's time for tea and meet the wife.
Somebody needs to know the time, glad that i'm here.
Watching the skirts you start to flirt now you're in gear.
Go to a show you hope she goes.
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Bird
The father sits in his lonely room,
Outside sings a little bird.
But the shadows are laden with death and gloom,
And the song is all unheard.
The father's heart is the home of sorrow;
His breast is the seat of grief!
Who will hunt the paper for him on the morrow -
Who will bring him sweet relief
From wearing his thoughts with innocent chat?
Who will find his slippers and bring his hat?
Still the little bird sings
And flutters her wings;
The refrain of her song is, 'Gos knows best!
He giveth His little children rest.'
What can she know of these sorrowful things?
The mother sits by the desolate hearth,
And weeps o'er a vacant chair.
Sorrow has taken the place of mirth -
Joy has resigned to despair.
Bitter the cup the mother is drinking,
So bitter the tear-drops start.
Sad are the thoughts the mother is thinking -
Oh, they will break her heart.
Who will on errands, and romp and play,
And mimic the robins the livelong day?
Still the little bird sings
And flutters her wings;
'God reigns in heaven, and He will keep
The dear little children that fall asleep.'
What can she know of these sorrowful things?
Grandmother sits by the open door,
And her tears fall down like rain.
Was there ever a household so sad before,
Will it ever be glad agaiin?
Many unwelcome thoughts come flitting
Into the granddame's mind.
Who will take up the stitches she drops in knitting?
Who will her snuff-box find?
Who'll bring her glasses, and wheel her chair,
And tie her kerchief, and comb her hair?
Still the little bird sings
And flutters her wings;
'God above doeth all things well,
I sang it the same when my nestlings fell.'
Ah! this knows the bird of these sorrowful things.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Love and understanding
Who today would praise
consciousness itself,
which brings new life and thought
every morning, opening
our minds a little more,
making the light seem brighter,
everything more vivid,
life itself more worth living?
This morning, I read the words
‘Love itself is understanding’…
and in the mind, doors blew open,
windows rattled, a wind
that smelled of spring and grass and rain
blew through the mind
and the word love
blew off the dusty shelf
along with the cobweb
but lay unbroken on the floor
waiting to be washed and put back
next to understanding
and the silliest, biggest gift of all
is to know for the first time
what you’ve always known
and which nearly two thousand years ago
Gregory the Great
also recognised for the first time,
maybe felt the same way, as if
he was entrusted with the key
to a large house on a windy day.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Cinderella Dance
Listening to the sweet sound of music,
As I'm swaying back and forth,
Closing my eyes and visualizing a dance,
Remembering my once Cinderella dance at my celebration.
Sitting on the front porch swings of my house,
I remember that day like it was yesterday,
Remembering my father came in the hospital room,
With my boyfriend who brought me flowers.
The music comes on and I stand up smiling,
He takes me by the hands and twirls me around,
My dad stands by the door smiling as well,
And when the song is over - I take his hands and dance with him.
My father calls me beautiful as a tear comes down his face,
Knowing that I'm cured from cancer,
He kisses my forhead and I whipe the tear away,
Nurses come in with balloons and such and it becomes a huge parade.
After a few years - my father gives me away,
But knowing I'm cured he feels happy as I whipe a tear coming down his face,
I kiss him on his cheek and he hands me to my boyfriend soon to be husband,
And we go off to our happily ever after.
As I begin to open my eyes,
I start to realize that my heart begins to hurt,
I fall to the ground,
And all I remember was everything went dark.
Doctors say they can't do anything,
So as I go up to heaven,
It's with my father and I dancing,
Over and over - to my Cinderella dance.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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Father Told
Father Told
i
Father told, ink filled pen causes writing
I poured ink into pen and started to write.
ii
Father told, the door if knocked
Some one or other will open that
I knocked at the door
From other side the door opened.
iii
Father advised me to walk carefully
I proceeded step by step
But I stumbled on the walking way
Father told, this is ornaments of walking path.
iv
Father asked to return back at practical world
From the world at poetic imagination
I returned back at practical world
And started to proceed
That walking path of mine followed me.
v
Father advised to read and learn
I read book and learnt
Also informed the neighbors
They learnt, taught and informed
Their surroundings.
vi
Father advised me to behave gently with all
I behaved gently with all, but
Some persons misbehaved with me
Father told me to be forgiving
So, I forgave them.
vii
Father told, open your incite, you will
Find everything is easy- straight and charming
No sooner I opened my incite
Infinite butterfly built their dwelling there.
viii
Through eye that you see
That is only present
Through mind that you see is past, present and future
I closed my eye and spread
I spread mind at wings of butterfly.
ix
Father told, every moment is under control of creature.
Even a leaf moves at his direction.
I listened, flying at sky as cloud
Falling in dropp as rain- bloomed as flower
And I extended over the air as aroma.
x
Father told, physique of creature dies, not soul
I close eye and become the king
Of far unknown kingdom.
xi
Father told, sun rises in the east
And sun sets in the west
I heard, saw and believed.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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I Promised Not To Wake Up Early And Write Again
but of course, here i am.
it is 4: 25 in the morning.
i wake up earlier than
i expected. there is no sense wriggling
on the bed that no longer feels my yearning for sleep.
i rise.
i open the computer. i hear its buzzing sound. No problem i am
willing to write about nothing
nothing at all. call it emptiness. call it weariness. on a very early
morning. but it does not matter at all. this is this. this is it.
this is what i am. just going. just coming. just writing.
whatever.
outside the rooster keeps its announcement
of a promising morning. the hens are laying their eggs.
some steps of strangers pass by. sagging footsteps
for an early work to do. opening doors of their stores.
dusting, cleaning, baking the bread. displaying wares.
the salesgirl still yawning on an unwashed face.
the dog wakes up and wags its tail on my side.
as i write.
my life begins to unfold. it is another poem. another story.
written and kept. there is nothing more important to do anyway.
you look for a rhyme. You do not find it here. Go somewhere.
That poet over there, the one with the color of dusk
keeps some. Talk to him. Meanwhile, I am through.
No promises again this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Understanding
We are here
To understand, not to condemn yet
Anyone.
I perfectly understand
Darkness
My companion since then
Has always been
Chaos and Confusion
I agree it is hard to write
What beginning there was
To point out the opening word
And to start writing
Sentences
But take love
First, Above All
Just love and take more pondering
On compassion
Take the teachings of Empathy
Whether you end with Sadness
Or you end with Happiness
Whether you arrive at Nothing
It does not really matter
Anymore
Just take love
The rest shall follow
The pen shall begin to write the word
Itself
And then, mind you
The sentences are too many.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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