At Dawnbreak
i open the windows on the rear
pale lights from the eastern side of the window pane enter
i stretch my arms and hands
rub my eyes like sands
the cock has crowed
the church bells toll, we bowed
it is the paleness of light, the color of sadness
landing slowly like a tiny wind in my emptiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
107
at dawn break
i open the windows on the rear
pale lights from the eastern side of the window pane enter
i stretch my arms and hands
rub my eyes like sands
the cock has crowed
the church bells toll, i bow
it is the paleness of light, the color of sadness
landing slowly like a tiny wind in my emptiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Emptiness Again?
this emptiness moves upon its hands
on the carpeted floors of the hallways
upon an old catholic church
the pillars as you see are taller
than the rugby players
the windows are as wide as the shoulders
of african men
i stand on the threshold of this door
the sun gets in
and i must choose which way to be
outside is the wind full of uncertain origins
inside there is this light that fears dissolution
the moment the wide window closes upon itself
there are two windows inside myself
i open them soon and then i will fly away
inside there is too much feasting
outside there is only your silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Today I Try To Pick Up The Shattered Pieces
today i try to pick up the shattered
pieces of myself and yourself
every piece, and color and shape
compared and analyzed
to make each fit and be the whole
as us again
i put the bond to fix the edges
to make them stick as though
nothing was ever broken
i do not wish to blink and then fall asleep
the hours run like there is no way to tame them
they say they are always on a rush
and no one has ever stopped them
i tremble on some tiny pieces
and have a hard time solving the puzzle
where do they fit so well?
to deceive our eyes
to give triumph to the healing of the hands
i am a failure on some interstices
there are leaks of light
& tiny holes
there is so much emptiness
this hollow wholeness
i have failed and i am lost and so here i am
back to your arms
wanting to be a definite part of you
to seal what leak is there
to put off the tiny lights
to reconstruct the smoothness of the edges
to love you and be loved by you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There At The Cave Door Of The Old Church
there at the cave door of the old church
you shall enter
move farther. move some more until you reach
the dead end corner
where the windows are little squares
lighted by the small fingers of the sun
shining all day
find our some truths of squares
lights and shadows of the past of this old church
on its window and door
have you gone to the old church in Baclayon?
have you seen this old door and window?
tell me if it is true that there are no more choices
in your life.
what they are saying is not really true.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Opening A New Window
come to my room
let us open a new window
that opens to another window
look at my face
and hold the side of my body
i will caress your hair with my hands
hold your body softly as a wind holds a feather
my fingers shall travel from the tips of your hair
down to the last tips of the toes of your feet
let us be happy, let us try opening another window
let us see the other windows hidden from our eyes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Light Your Windows
Hold on girl, now don't be blue,
dry those tears for me and you,
Can't you see our love is true, when you remember,
To do just what you say you'll do, can't you see I live for you?
And I need you to trust me too, open your eyes.
So the sun can shine lights in you, will light on your windows,
And change all your baby blues to golden sparks that light your eyes,
When you finally realize that your fears were all just lies,
So open those eyes and let the sun shine lights in you,
Light on your windows and take all your baby blues
song performed by by Quicksilver Messenger Service
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inside The Hotel Room In Hongkong
IF YOU SEE me here inside my hotel room
in Hongkong
you will not perhaps believe
that in such a short time of our separation
I am now looking
at our pictures
the one where we simply sit on the train
going to Baclaran
on the busy day
where we were looking at the other side of the window
taken by that stranger
upon our request
still strikes me
there was something in your eyes
that gives the premonition
something in the misty window
speaks about the unexpected twist
of a sad story
a plot that i have not mastered well
perhaps because
i was too trusting
the stupid man falls in love again
with a woman still possessing the full senses
of her world
i have decided to tear this picture
into tiny pieces of paper
my hands like a shredding machine
i open the window of this hotel
and let the tiny shreds of your face
be blown by the wintry wind
from the 13th floor.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Color of Change
Red is the color of passion
the color of love
the color of hate
the color of anger
and the color of regret
purple is the color of richness
of happiness
Black is the color of emptiness
Of shame
and of sadness
where is the color of change
Is it between the red and black?
or between the purple and black?
somewhere between the happiness and emptiness
somewhere between the love and the sadness
i believe change is orange
straying away from the dark colors leading towards the red and purple
poem by Athena Macknight
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The Inner Side Of Your Perfection
to get intimacy
you make love
to be more intimate
you need to make love some more
like a string of
buds of
tiny flowers
seemingly you want it without
an ending
eternity & infinity
side by side
but there is no intimacy in intimacy
since after each lovemaking
you return to the
emptiness of your arms again
less the other arms of those
other nights & other nights
before them
a cold night returns
with empty hands
and winds begin to pass
by your face
between your eyes
beyond your
hair
outside all of you
finally you try embracing yourself again
as though
you are another distinct set of arms
unto your
inner arms
and then you become one
without need
of any other
silent and
complete
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Windows To Bill Gates Or Paul Allen And History Of Windows
window's leaves
windows of open sea
windows as far as possible
windows easier
windows update
window shopper
window tablet
windows on the world
window seat
(Music by The Implicit Order) .
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Too Much Thinking
you are like a window
half-open
still in a crisis of whether
to close
or open
or perhaps simply sifting
what wind
shall be allowed to enter
always indecisive
as to what really must be done
tonight
perhaps i am thinking that
much
about you
underestimating that all you wanted
to have
in this sophisticated minding
is just the soft light of the moon
on that window
that is always half-open
and that really
there is nothing much to it
to debate upon
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Adage 3
'A good meal ought to begin with hunger.'
French Proverb
one who is full
shall never be full
because he is
to be full
one must be empty again
to be a wall
one must start being a window
blink
and then open your eyes
and then close
each eye
slowly
this is the ritual of days and nights
shuttered existence
close
open
close
open
cl ose
open
fragile tiny hands of a new born baby
beside
the sleeping mother.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Raindrops
The drip, drip, drip of the rain
against my window pane
quiets the stormy rages
that invade my brain.
The methodical tapping of wetness
slowly flushes away
all accumulated sadness
on a dark and dreary day.
Welcomed by creatures of the outside world
unaware of the constant drip,
they find the watery pools that collect
and drink or take a dip.
The clouds have opened. They're not aware
of the rain's effect on me.
'Tis not important to them at all.
That's something that I see.
But I, seeing the dripping rain
against my window pane
must give up sadness while it falls,
for it will not remain.
The sun will burst forth once again
and lighten the sky and my heart.
And the drip, drip, drip of the rain
will be a memory that will depart.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sleep with the lights on..............
Her first room had bare walls,
pale blue, and a built in wardrobe.
The single bed was
pushed against a wall,
and the blankets were coarse.
Her first room was cold and sterile,
offering no charm, no comfort.
It was but a box, austere,
yet practical, it offered
nothing.
Thinking back,
maybe it was that room,
the starkness,
its high, plain windows,
its bare, tiled floor.
These days it's locked,
except for her night chills,
the way her stomach fell
in the mornings
as the cock crowed.
Her first room lies
belly up on the page….
Here, take it,
make of it what you will,
sleep with the lights on...if you have to.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Fill Me With Your Love
But there are so many
Who dont know the reason
Their lives are wasting away
Just souls without purpose
They wonder in darkness
Without a thought for the day
Well, Im no savior
Im just a window
Through which your sweet love light can shine
So clean out the corners of my darkened pane
And fill me with your love again
Fill me with your love again
Fill me with your love again
I open my heart and soul for you to enter me
And fill me with your love again
Fill me with your love again
Fill me with your love again
I open my heart and soul for you to enter me
And fill me with your love again
I open my heart and soul for you to enter me
And fill me with your love again
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain Keeps Fallin
I remember the night so well.
The rain was fallin but I just couldnt tell,
If it was you that was callin to my love-sick brain.
But the rain kept fallin on my window pane.
Out of the night the thunder rang in my ear.
I cant fight the feelin, lord, that brings forth my fears.
I wish it was over, lord, please stop the rain.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
Every night the rains on time, I can feel it in this heart of mine.
But I dont know what to do.
Well, I guess I could go back home, cause you know back home is where I belong.
But it just aint home without you.
And I dont know what to do, baby.
Well, I guess Im a looser but it just dont seem fair.
I lost all my life so tell me, why should I care?
The night that you left me is the night that it came.
And the rains still fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain ...
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
... keeps right on fallin.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said, the rain keeps fallin ...
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Susan
When Susan's work was done, she'd sit
With one fat guttering candle lit,
And window opened wide to win
The sweet night air to enter in;
There, with a thumb to keep her place
She'd read, with stern and wrinkled face.
Her mild eyes gliding very slow
Across the letters to and fro,
While wagged the guttering candle flame
In the wind that through the window came.
And sometimes in the silence she
Would mumble a sentence audibly,
Or shake her head as if to say,
"You silly souls, to act this way!"
And never a sound from night I'd hear,
Unless some far-off cock crowed clear;
Or her old shuffling thumb should turn
Another page; and rapt and stern,
Through her great glasses bent on me,
She'd glance into reality;
And shake her round old silvery head,
With--"You!--I thought you was in bed!"--
Only to tilt her book again,
And rooted in Romance remain.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Parade
As windows look out on windows here
They have to be kept closed often
Even if the sun and zephyr cannot enter,
When I'm tired of the walls
The television, the kitchen and the humdrum
I throw them open,
Catching eyes or movement,
On the other side
Now hurriedly shutting me out,
It's difficult to make friends -
No tenant stays for long
Next door or at the opposite window,
Perhaps driven to the suburbs
By the rent
Or opting for a city
With fewer desires -
I've seen a slow parade of faces
Like the infertile clouds
In the sky
Before they pass out of sight
Leaving no trace
Of their flight.
poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam
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See That My Grave Is Kept Clean
(first releaseblind lemon jefferson)
Well theres one kind of favor Ill ask for you
Well theres one kind of favor Ill ask for you
Theres just one kind of favor Ill ask for you
You can see that my grave is kept clean.
And theres two white horses following me
And theres two white horses following me
I got two white horses following me
Waiting on my burying ground.
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Means another poor boy is underground.
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Means another poor boy is dead and gone.
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
Now I believe what the Bible told.
Theres just one last favor Ill ask for you
And theres one last favor Ill ask for you
Theres just one last favor Ill ask for you
See that my grave is kept clean.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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