At One Moment...
then everything shuts up.
the door and windows.
nothing opens, you have no use finally
of your hands and eyes,
and this time
you simply become an empty bag
put inside a cabinet
waiting for the
next trip to
nowhere
you are rested but it is dark
and silent.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right Before Your Eyes
When the door shuts
Don't worry about me
Its not attention that I want from you
I need you to trust who I'm gonna be
And in everything I'm going to do
Cause I'm not afraid
Of what I don't know
For understanding is all that I earn
What is for sure is I'm gonna to go
I'm gonna to live and I'm going to learn
And I know there will be mistakes that I will make
But I know they're not worse than chances I don't take, take
Right before your eyes I am changing, changing
New life on the inside I am changing, changing
When the door shuts
Its shuts in front of me
A new person that I have become
I follow my heart to my destiny
But living in fear and sorrow is done
There will be no more feeling that I'm all alone
I will surround myself with things that help me grow, grow
Right before your eyes I am changing, changing
New life on the inside I am changing, changing
Right before your eyes I am changing, changing
New life on the inside I am changing, changing
Right before your eyes I am changing, changing
New life on the inside I am changing, changing
Right before your eyes
Right before your eyes
song performed by by Hoobastank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Attachments
the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you
your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but
the ordinary closing and opening
of your day
you like a door that opens
to nowhere
you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them
in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while
darkness folds and
light of another day opens
you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket
you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open
you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again
there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue
you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Secrets Of The Loving Person
the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you
your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but
the ordinary closing and opening
of your day
you like a door that opens
to nowhere
you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them
in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while
darkness folds and
light of another day opens
you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket
you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open
you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again
there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue
you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Like It This Time
when the world is so silent
because everyone is fast asleep.
when the night is dark
when all the lights on the street
are turned off
when no one walks his way
back home
because everyone is finally
at home
i like it this time when the wind
stops when the leaves find
no disturbance
when the paths and roads are
finally vacant from feet and cars
and buses
when every car is parked in the garage
when the child sleeps
in her mothers arms sucking her nipple
when the father is beside mother's
body
when sisters hug each other in bed
i like it this time
when the world finally is rested
for i am now awakened from
my sleep
i like it this time when i begin
to write
when what i hear is this
computer machine is buzzing
fanning (sighing)
like my long trip
in the plane.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Child, The Man And The Old Man....
i look at the child
at the farther nook of a old house.
there is no chair and beside the door
is a box, it is empty
and the child in fear
took its hiding there
a favorite place
safety box, safe house,
the four corners are
so silent
and the child is happy
asleep in a moment.....
time travels like horses with wings.
there is a man
with a long bird his toenails
are long, no time to cut them
it throat is swollen
bacterial infection again
or the weather changes
cold this time then hot in
a moment
dusts all over the place
and white painted houses
it is lonely, child and man
at the same time
and not one of him speaks
they become one box
and one flap opens to
a sky
always there are
no extra hands. it is reality.
there is an old man
with words of thread
sewing upon its lips.
there is a very dark night.
the child, the man and the old man
are asleep
inside a box, safe and
silent.
there is no morning.
it is final.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One stop shopping; A Nightmare
A man simply waiting outside for the right moment till the electronic door opens.
But it's a public holiday and he knows nothing about holidays
As he's nearly senile.
He holds a chit prescribed by a famous doctor who practices in a lunatic asylum.
He waited there until tomorrow
And when the door opens he rushed inside.
He gave the prescription to the counter.
'I am sorry the capsules named 'Happiness' is out of date Grandpa!
But I can provide you a substitute named 'Sadness' a sugar coated pill.' A young salesgirl said.
* ' The time for bickering is over' The President insists.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Door Between Two Worlds
this the door between our two worlds
it divides the inside and the outside
the light and the darkness
the choice is yours
there is no lock
there is only the hinge that holds the door to its place
when you open it
there is no sound
and when you close it
there is only this silence of the air sealed inside our minds
my heart does not sing inside
it is muted by the darkness that moment your gentle hands
close the door
it is patient, the mind
the incompatibilities of the things outside us
are too inviting
they tempt us to step outside and promise us
the magical wonders of freedom
we feel so light like our joys like cottons and clouds
they are no different from our wishes
i am in the middle of this door between us
& you look at me like i am the last man of this earth
your heart opens with eyes too careful not to know
what i do next is the suspense of this uncertainty
your eyes close, my heart bleeds
my hands wilt, your mind wanders like a lost wind
the door closes finally
walling us in
it locks upon itself and
the world sleeps soundly curling its feet on the beds of the
heavens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Flashlight in the Sky
Could you tell me
how beautiful is the sky this night
could you give me
simply a piece of his heart
This dark sky inside me
that grows,
has taken all the feelings
has finished it all
But wait here is a flashlight there, in my sky
i was hoping that i finally found the way
the place to go
the place were someone for me
is gonna take care
I was simply dreaming
about this lovely ending
cause i open my eyes
and i saw just that dark sky
inside me.
poem by Elida Cumani
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What To Do With An Empty Cup?
the presumption is
you have consumed the hotness of the tea
and now the cup is cold
and empty
at the state of emptiness
shall you break it? or shall you keep it instead
and not wipe it
because there is a mark of the lips
of the beloved
some do the cleaning
wipe out everything
the empty cup shines together
with the rest of the
utensils, spoons and forks and saucers
in the cabinet
the door of the cabinet is closed
and then they all do what has to be done
they move on
with the other more important events in their lives
from an empty cup
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If It Is Written
if it is written
then what shall i do?
shall i wait
till the words come true?
shall i stand
and just watch how these written things
come into themselves
like a growing lily on the pond?
things come to you
the floors make themselves under your feet
it is written
so why worry? live life
and life meets you
whatever is it
you just wait
and that is the excitement
the windows simply construct themselves
and the door opens
like hands that meet and shake you
they all say
welcome, everything is ready
and they had all been waiting
for you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In my house
You enter a room to see a park
You close a door only to be led to another stairway
Leading you to another room with nothing but windows
You close a window the rest remains open
You close the windows and another door
In that park in the room where you just entered
Opens
Then you are confused about the roof that opens
To a river to the rocks where another door opens
To a wall with trees and birds and butterflies
This is weird you say, this is really weird
Then from the garage comes a wind that blows
Its horn like a car
I have just arrived offering you an explanation
For all these mess, these uncertainties, these self-made
confusions.
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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Time Passes
Time is passing while I am waiting
For true life to have some meaning-
Time is passing and I blindly
Count to ten upon my fingers-
Not knowing and not even able to distinguish
What is real from what is not?
One, two, three and the voices inside me won't stop commanding-
Four, five and six-
All I see are snakes within the bleakness and confinement of this room-
Seven, eight, and nine, and even through this dim light I believe I am being watched-
I count aloud to ten upon my fingers and
Time is passing and all that is all that I hear for the moment-
All that I see, I reach out to touch or to open my eyes to see-
Time has passed and everything is silent, without a trace of
Ever being near and once more I count,
Starting at seven, eight and then nine- watching the second hand on the wall clock and
Ten? Ten more hours to be locked inside of this empty, room where
The walls are barren and I am alone with my thoughts-
Time is passing and I would be running away, but there is nowhere to run to, except to
Places inside of my mind and one, two three and all that I see is
The walls of this empty room and a locked door-
I could count from one to a thousand and
Inside of this room I would remain- I could count to one million and
I would die before I even got there- so I count from one to three over and over because
Everything is seemingly easier when I am lost inside the world of my fantasies and
I realize now what is not truly real and threatening shall never harm me and
Time is passing and as I count, I am blissfully losing myself inside the world
I have made here inside of my mind for myself, alone…
This way time may pass even before the sun rises tomorrow, and then-and then?
My life perhaps shall have some meaning-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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And How Did He Put The Elephant In The Refrigerator?
simple enough
he first
finds the door
of the ref
opens it
lifts
the elephant
using his hands
and then
puts the elephant
inside the ref
and then
he finally
closes the
door
that is how
he does it
and everyone
who hears
him says
he is one
mighty right
the next
problem is
how to put
the giraffe
in the ref
and he says
it is very simple
open the ref
take the
elephant out
and then
put the giraffe
and do not
forget
to close the door of the
ref
is it not
that simple?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Glinda's Theme
Come over here and rest awhile
Look at the trip you've made
I know you must be tired by now
So rest here in the shade
Oh, the journey that you've had to make
I've watched you bear the load
But you can always stay at my place
When you come off the road
And if you ever need someone (need someone)
Count on me anytime (you can count on me)
I'll be here to pick you up
Because a rested body is a rested mind
Because a rested body is a rested mind
(Because a rested body is a rested mind)
A rested body is a rested mind
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When We Are Left Alone
it was in macau
when we were finally left on our own
waiting till three o'clock
with instruction to proceed
to gate 11
no one was there
except the two of us
waiting on cold seats
and i was figuring out
where to go
while you simply
hold my hand
lay your head
on my shoulder
and then
you start to whistle
a love song
it was a little dark when the
boat finally came
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Alexandrines
There is a house that most of all on earth I hate.
Though I have passed through many sorrows and have been
In bloody fields, sad seas, and countries desolate,
Yet most I fear that empty house where the grasses green
Grow in the silent court the gaping flags between,
And down the moss-grown paths and terrace no man treads
Where the old, old weeds rise deep on the waste garden beds.
Like eyes of one long dead the empty windows stare
And I fear to cross the garden, I fear to linger there,
For in that house I know a little, silent room
Where Someone’s always waiting, waiting in the gloom
To draw me with an evil eye, and hold me fast—
Yet thither doom will drive me and He will win at last.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Our Points Of View
We now differ on how we look
At things. I am silent. I want to be silent.
You wish we are noisy. Or at least
We must talk.
You wish there is a glass of wine
In our hands
I still think we need coffee.
I am secure. I feet that so.
Your hands are shaky,
Reflections of the waves
Inside your mind.
You are picking on some little
Things that grow on the
Pavement. You want to kill them.
I say, I gesture, leave them
Let them be.
I situate myself on a hammock
Riding with the wind
This afternoon the breeze is cold
From the seashore.
Finally you do not resist
Getting near me and you complain
“I hate this place, it is too lonely
For me”
I do not mind. Deep inside my mind
I like this place. It is too peaceful.
I swing with the wind
With the hammock. You hold it.
You want it to stop.
I look at you and you cry.
Tears flood the creeks of your cheeks.
I cannot wipe them now.
I know, you want to leave.
I am silent. I am secure now.
I ride with the wind on the wings
Of my dreams.
I am listening to the
Footsteps of the ants
I am counting how many
Time the grasshopper jumps.
I like it here. It is peaceful
Now go, find your place.
Your dreams. Take your trip
To your sighs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let Them Be
let the shoes come and accommodate your feet
and the gloves your hands
and your shirt and pants let them all come near you
and wear your body
let all of them come
let them be let them be
let them have you
the shoes will take you to the door of the house
the home you are longing
the stairs meet you
and the windows open like eyes looking out to another face
the floors and ceiling give you a space
where you can sit with the chair
that opens its arms
a glass serves you milk
or orange juice, tell it what you want
to quench your thirst
a saucer, a plate, a spoon and fork
they all come before your hands
some muffins and jelly
they all come before your mouth
they all come to feed your hunger
this is your home now.
Destiny is waiting.
You do not do a thing.
They all do it for you.
There is no worry.
Destiny does it for you.You see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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