Another Insomniac Night
last night thoughts came
rambling and we had a guessing game
of what each image mean
for instance the closed door of the dorm
at 1: 30 a.m. when all of us were drank
when the fat one climbs and breaks
open a glass door
i can still hear the shattered pieces
of glass
but no one minds as everyone were
afraid and pretended to be asleep
for instance the bald prefect was surprised
making love with someone we knew inside
his room
no one likes to tell about these anymore
those secrets that must be kept
and buried in the chambers
of our ruined subconscious subways
in the morning i look at my eyes
buried in my sockets
but i always think of some advantages
about those insomniac nights
these bed for hidden thoughts
uncovered by its curious hands
those that want to be
part of who we are now
no one
not even our morbidity
erases them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Mirrored Heart
My heart is shattered
Like cold glass
Slipped from unsteady hands
Onto concrete
The first crack
Breaks its way to the top
Splintering off
Causing pieces to fall
Shattering smaller and smaller
When you open your eyes
The mirror lies on the ground
Unfixable and ruined
It’s irreplaceable
My heart is that mirror
And you just dropped it.
poem by Jennifer Woodland
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Closed Door
sometimes we want to enter
a door
a closed door that does not open
no matter how hard we
knock
we try being courteous and gentle
and so patient
eating every waiting time
like we are the most foolish of all fools
knocking a closed door
seducing it more often with our
pleadings
begging and even compromising
for a dance
to convince the owner of the door to
open it
but no one hears, no one cares to listen
to our pleadings,
no one likes the dance of compromises
the door is still closed
and then the last crooked thing happens
we take the axe
and break the door which is closed
forcing it open
only to find that all the people there are dead
there is nothing inside
but mystery and
grief
an unsolved crime, no more
no less.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Would You... (Open The Door)
if i set fire to my heart,
would you see the flames...
and stop, a stranger in the night,
to warm your soul?
if i broke the glass of my dreams,
would you pick up the pieces...
would the light shining on them,
become the prism of your thoughts?
and if i shed my leaves,
would you say farewell to the swallows...
and rake in the stillness, waiting on snow?
if my silence shouted...
would you hear... would you hear?
if i took off my mask,
would you open the door?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Inside That Room
inside that room
clutters of old things
a conglomeration of dusts
silent stones
broken wedges
blunt shapes and sharp edges
inside that room
that silence we both shared
isolated moans
tongues lingering
inside that room
our memories
now the door is closed.
inside that room
the noise of insistence
the clap of a disaster
we disown
inside that room
the impregnation of tough thoughts
with soft laces
of ductile memories
inside that room
oh! there is no
us anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Welcome To The Door Of Freedom
this is the door of freedom
you just got in
i have a room beyond this room
no one has entered yet
between this door and my room
is a space
this is where some pieces of my are left
but soon they will be taken back
to be kept inside my palms
to be hidden once again from you
when you get in
you will be introduced to the ritual of knowing
what you do not know
what you cannot know
what shall be hidden forever from you
and you shall be a little bit
disappointed
but you must insist
you have to repeat your name many times
you will sort out the letters
there are onions and chilies
they will make you cry
and then you will wish upon another door
this time it is your door
towards your own room
you will doubt about breathing
about windows and exits
and then you begin to ask
if all these are worth it
you decide.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Analogous
everything has
an analogy
for instance these hands
with fingers
are they not rivers and creeks
a source and
tributaries?
for instance this body
this temple
where my soul rests
this eye
this window of the house
the sun
the eye of the earth
a friend of the stars
the wonders of our longings
for instance
the silence
a dash in our talk
a space of our doubts
many more
for instance you and me
two hands in prayer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Making Lvoe With Her Own Bed
you are just near me
but between us is a door
and between that door
is another door, and so
when you say a word
i have to figure out what
you really mean,
when i open the door
there is a glass wall and
i thought it was you
humming,
it is cold tonight
i am closing a window
out there
i see a black bird perched
upon a branch,
it is cold and i am shutting
myself for any
kind of significance like
what if the bird dies?
what if the bird is you
disguised as a bird?
tonight i cannot sleep
something bothers me
all these thoughts bother me
there is no note
that you are coming back
from that long trip
away from home
was it Sarah who said
that she is making love with her bed?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Closed Doors Of The Mind
No one knows what goes on behind
the closed doors of the mind.
Thoughts that sometimes inspire
the deeds that transpires.
Many have tried to find the key
to unlock the secrets that are enclosed within,
buried deep behind
the closed doors of the mind.
The lust and deprivation
that sometimes conspire
to be set free
or the eternal love of life
that can rise to the fore.
Both are hidden in the crevasses
behind the closed doors of our mind.
15 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Cole And Glass
she was a beautiful girl
with light blond hair
although she had problems
she still wasnt scared
she had the heart of a worrior
and the motivation
of a lioness waiting to strike her pray
as she walked through the woods
and overcame the obsticals in her path
she was not alone
for a fox with brown fur fallowed
guiding her way and making sure she was ok
the fox defended the beautiful girl with all she could
but found out later on she had not done as good
although the fox tried hard to help
it wasnt enough
the girl had a heart of glass
and the fox a heart of cole
the girl had good things in her life
but the bad took it over
the fox left for just a while
and when she returned she found
the beautiful girl covered in blood
her wrists bleeding and her heart of glass
shattared to pieces mearly dropped
the fox looked at her friend with tears in her eyes
who would hurt this beautiful girl
what would make her want to take her life
the fox tried to think but found no thought
she had realized that she had done enough
and enough was everything she could to help the girl
the fox dug a whole deep in the ground and
covered her friend in beautiful leave that suit her well
she burried her were she knew the girl with the
now broken heart of glass would have been happy
in a beautiful sarounding in a quiet forest is where
she is burried
the fox said a prayer and howled at the moon
as she walked away carrying the pieces of her heart of glass
the fox swallowed each piece with thought and love
hope was upon her that it would be safe
so now in her chest right beside the foxes heart of cole
is a memorie the pieces of her friend glass heart
the beautiful girl with the heart of glass loved nights
an stars
she would always talk about them and now shes with them
watching over the fox
i swear i can still hear the beautiful girl talk to me
when the wind blows i hear her voice and when i look into the sky
on a bright stary night i can see her looking and watching for me
with my eyes closed i can picture her smile
i still here her calling me once in a while
saying my dear fox it is my turn to watch over you
with my heart of cole and the pieces of glass
friendship stays forever
poem by Sandy Vanity
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Bird In The Golden Cage
as i watch the bluebird
inside its golden cage i am somehow
carried by mysterious
pity
you hear it sing a very sad song
you hear it making a plea that you open the lock of its door
so it can fly away
touched i opened it so it may use its wings
but then this is the sadder part
it has come back
asking for grains inside my hands
now it is making another plea
to open the door of the cage so she can sleep back
soundly than it used to
before
ahh, look what habits are formed
by the prisons of our lives
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gratis Et Amore (2)
helen cannot sleep,
and she keeps on sneering at the moon
and writing it
with poems as though the moon is a man
and as though the poems are her
letters pleading
to be loved by its glimmer
and shimmer imagining
them to be the rough hands
of a lover and
throughout many nights
she had been waiting
to be loved
there were many things that she did
all for the moon not even for the stars
until one morning she was found
dead inside her room
her face towards the moon
her eyes closed
her window open
and the people who buried her
that same day
told about the shame
that she was naked
i know how it is to be like her
and it was all done in the name of love
gratis et amore.
and they said, all of them, after all the prayers were said
Amen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thoughts of desire
Thoughts of desire
~
A burning passion rises
consumes the mind at will
thoughts become provocative
seducing the subconscious
ideas come into place
stirring, hard to shake
passions flame burns hot
with the secrets we keep
the desires we mask
continue to rise inside
a thought grows into a dream
how sweet the night
passes into morning
dare we ever live them
or should they remain
kept inside the mind
as thoughts of desire
poem by Matthew Holloway
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In The End
I Saw Red
Warrant
Oo it must be magic
How inside your eyes I see my destiny Every time we kiss
I feel you breathe your love to deep inside of me
And if the moon and stars should fall
They'd be east to replace
I would lift you up to heaven
And you would take their place
Then I saw red
When I opened up the door
I saw red
Heart just spilled on to the floor
And I didn't need to see his face
I saw yours
I saw red then I closed the door
I don't think I'm gonna love you anymore
Everyday I wake up
I thank God that you are
Still a part of me
Opened up the door to which
So many people never find the way
Snd if the sun
Should ever fail to send its light
We will burn a thousand candles
And make everything alright
Then I saw red
Wnen I opened up the door
I saw red
Heart just spilled onto the floor
And I didn't need to see his face
I saw yours
I saw red then I closed the door
I don't think I'm gonna love you anymore
I've been hurt
And I've been blind
I'm not sure that I'll be fine
I never thought it would
End this way
Oo it must be magic
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Concealed Soul
Concealed by a shadow behind the windows,
Overlooking the gateway of no return,
The neighborhood is suspicious
Of the elfish silhouette against the glass
Of an unlit room where I reconcile
My most precious thoughts...
My thoughts have no cause
For great concerns
Because If I had to,
I would gladly explain
That I would indefinitely remain,
In this cozy room
Where my future is being designed...
Sighted, obviously reported-a threat!
I retreat behind my computer's desk,
Deeper into the closed space
Where I listen tentatively,
Motionless, for the door to rip...
Open hinges with familiar complaints,
Bracing me for opposition,
While I completely quiet I remain
And letting them look like fools...
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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I Saw Red
Ooh, it must be magic
How inside your eyes, I see my destiny
And every time we kiss, I feel you
Breathe your love so deep inside of me
If the moon and stars should fall
They'd be easy to replace
I would lift you up to heaven
And you would take their place
(Chorus): And I saw red when I opened up the door
I saw red, my heart just spilled onto the floor
And I didn't need to see his face...
Cause I saw yours
I saw red and then I closed the door
And I don't think I'm gonna love you anymore
And every day I wake up
I thank God that you are still a part of me
We've opened up the door to it
So many people never find the key
And if the sun should ever fail to send its light
We would burn a thousand candles
And make everything alright
Chorus
I've been hurt, I've been blind
I'm not sure that I'll be fine
I never thought it would end this way
Cause I saw red when I opened up the door
I saw red, my heart just spilled onto the floor
And I didn't need to see his face
Oh, I saw yours
I saw red and then I closed the door
And I don't think I'm gonna love you anymore...
Yeah... ooh, it must be magic...
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Door
Behind the door what happens
behind the door what's hidden
till you keep the door closed
you are not exposed
Elseone cannot peep in
Elseone cannot step in
other side of closed door
you live behind secured.
If you want door of others
to open for you
keep your door open for
who needs you.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Why Would You Want To Open Your Door?
Why would I want to be a part of your life,
Right now?
When you had...
Never been around to give me reason.
And,
Why would I want to be a part of your life,
Right now?
When gone is that season.
And why,
Would I try now...
When I've been denied,
To love you...
Then.
And why,
Would you want to open your door?
When you said never see you,
Again.
Or anymore!
I remember then...
Loving you was all I wanted.
When I thought you wanted love too,
For you to begin.
I remember then...
When my nights and days were haunted,
Wanting just to have you,
As my only friend...
To depend on!
And why,
Would I try now...
When I've been denied,
To love you...
Then.
And why,
Would you want to open your door?
When you said never see you,
Again.
Or anymore.
Why would I want to be a part of your life,
Right now?
When you had...
Never been around to give me reason.
And why,
Would I try now...
When I've been denied,
To love you...
Then.
And why,
Would you want to open your door?
When you said never see you,
Again.
Or...
Anymore!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In All Situations (part Two)
just like in any other work
of art, painting for instance
there will fakes and there
will be real
there will be those that
pose for the genuine
but actually prized for
nothing,
but at what expense,
for instance let us take
a look at yours?
it will take me time
to read it
i have none. i do not have
the patience anymore
of looking at what's real or
fake, at what's quality,
art or garbage
we are here
not for anything, for what?
just plain nonsense
make time pass
and stare at the glass
letting the sands pour
between our boring
fingers.
smile, there is nothing
worth seriously taking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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