Back To Nature....
sad to say
you have been looking on the pages of the book
away from the landscapes of the mountains
the calm unfolded soft linens of the sea
pages of days
the chapters of those seasons
a butterfly floating
is enough poem without so much use of words
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wing Pages Of The Butterfly
at the nursery
while people
are at purchase
and at transactions
a blue butterfly
comes by
and opens its pages to me
swift and quick
and it says to me:
'Read! Read!
Read my pages! '
'I can’t read, '
I say,
amused
at this brash butterfly
'Read and write!
Read and write
about me,
and all flitting butterflies
Read
and write, you silly! '
it commands
And so I read
and I copy
and these are the words
the words from those
pages
the butterfly
holds up to me
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Book Of My Life
Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as the section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,
There's a page where we fail to meet
There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned
There's a chapter on god that I don't understand
There's a promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
Now the daylight's returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that's left is you
Though the pages are number
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Memory Place
Shelves tower over me; crowed with bound pages
of events, people, places, ideas.
Of memories.
Of captured feelings pressed like flowers between the pages;
for people to be inspired by someone else's words.
My eyes caress the titles printed on bright spines
as I run my fingers across
what holds the memories together.
I pick up a book, turning yellowed pages,
the scent of gentle time traveling to my nose.
I close my eyes and smile:
it brings back memories of my own,
but these pages are not for me.
I put back the soft bundle of pages
and continued to search in the Memory Place
until I find my own belonging among the words.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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In Between
in between the monotonous pages
of this book of life
some dog ears are inserted
the red tassels protruding like a tongue
saying nothing
not even some slips of the memories
within are the serious
delicate matters such as incessant wars
of mankind and the impulses of greed
i scan the pages till the end
i have not seen such chapters as giving in
to humanity
that innate goodness, i hurry to find it
not even in the appendix
someone inserted in this book
a letter
it says, love has long been gone
and no one knows where it is going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Midst Of My Sins
i wanted a poem
like some book
taken down and
dusted off opened
up like torn pages
from some script
“it should have
been written” like
this', I wanted a
poem with thick lips
big eyes and a
dove tattoo, early
words rising from
a throaty voice, two
drinks in, I wanted
a poem like this, hands
twisted sweaty
with praying, eyes
tight shut from
the light, I wanted
a poem that said
“it’s all been done, you’re
just sinkin ships son”
photographs, floating dead
in bathrooms, bedrooms
my sins pulling at
my coattails, i
wanted
a poem.
poem by Ben Paynter
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Kissing In The Dark
KISSING IN THE DARK
I write our names
on opposite pages
of an out-of-date
diary.
I scrawl myself
on JULY 27th 1986.
I scribble you
on JULY 27th of
that self same year.
It is now
JULY 27th 2012.
We exist...so:
in a time that is no longer
no longer exists.
We are the only words
on our respective pages
as if we were the only
happenings those days
as I close
the book on us
the words of us
touch
each other
word to word
until the last lower case 'e'
of you
fits into the first
capital 'D' of me
like the soft sigh
of a clasp
the syllables of us
kissing in the dark.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Badges People Pages
oh we were so
set about the words
chagrine skin margins
footnotes of the neath heart
struck bottom corner left right
notes in pencils sharp
left overs of the right owners
who honestly told their stories
and never peeped from behind the titles
but
chapters the beginnings the ends
all burdened by a mind
thinking in badges people pages
oh so so set about the words
unanimated in the smoke bonfire
badges people pages
burned
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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There is a difference between a book of two hundred pages from the very beginning, and a book of two hundred pages which is the result of an original eight hundred pages. The six hundred are there. Only you don't see them.
quote by Elie Wiesel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shakespeare, Your Pen!
Seasons
Moons over moons
Letters
Pages over pages
Words
Quotes over quotes
Rock
Wind and rains
Ever fresh
Your penned letter, Shakespeare!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Pages In Tyme
Looking through the pages of my life
I stop and remember
Those days that became chapters
In an otherwise ordinary life
Oh how they stand so clear in my mind
As if they were only yesterday
Always there each time
I go and search for them
For they are what made me
What I am today
The happy, sad the good and the bad
Oh how those times write the story of my life
They are what will give me comfort
Now and and in the last days of my life
For the candle of life once ablaze that shone bright
Is now nothing more than a flicker
For memmories made today
Seem to slip away as fast as they are made
Oh how I thank the Lord
For those special pages given just to me
For they will comfort me
When all else has gone dark
poem by David Kush
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If you look closely, there is no book more visual than Three Trapped Tigers, in that it is filled with blank pages, dark pages, it has stars made of words, the famous magical cube made of numbers, and there is even a page which is a mirror.
quote by Guillermo Cabrera Infante
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Destiny Life Leaf Pages
manuscripts we all life write
destiny life leaf pages
some leave empty pages white
others shimmer reflecting light
some smear pages with dirt
record chaos rip rub out hurt
how shall we fill manuscript pages...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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If you get a book which is 600 pages, you have to reduce it to a script of 100 pages. In two hours of film, you cannot possibly include all the characters.
quote by Dino De Laurentiis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early Works - Old Books
Crumpled pages read and read
the authors words in someone’s head.
Knowledge of by-gone days
hidden under dust on the shelf.
Faded pages, dogged corners
what may their secrets hide?
8 October 1980
poem by David Harris
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Mr Paddy's Capers.
Just when she thought
She'd found a place alone
To read her book, Mr Paddy
poked his nose between
Her and the open book, so
That pages are blanked out
By his huge head. Mr Paddy
Go off and annoy another,
She said, but he stood there
Determined to be where he
Was, between her and the
Brown covered book, held
Out in her small hands. Oh
Mr Paddy I cannot see the
Pages. Please go off and run
In the garden or in the kitchen
And steal a bone, she said. But
He wouldn't leave her alone,
He pushed his head against her
Young girl body, his damp nose
Dampening her wrist and her
White dress with blue sash, and
Dribble from his lips was wetting
The pages. Mr Paddy please let
Me be, I'm trying to read can't
You see? Mr Paddy's brown eyes
Scanned the pages, nothing there
But scribbled lines upon white paper,
And still he stood wet mouthed with
Big brown eyes and his silly old caper.
poem by Terry Collett
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Matters Of Observation
it is me lying on a bench
reading a book halfway through
the pages
for a break i close the book
earmark a page
and look at the jack fruit treetop
just beside the house
i am on the second floor
and no one is in the house
my wife is visiting a friend
who just arrived from the U.S.
there is no other creature except
a white butterfly hovering
on a sampaguita flower
in the small garden
the tree has more leaves
but it is not bearing any fruit
at all
i am reminded of those years
joys forgotten and now i am reading
a book about some shadows
of doubts
there is this systems that works
of patronage
refunds
i am situated in a plateau
and my Jesuit professor who dropped by
last night with a
'how are you? ' through the YM
must have understood that an
introvert like me has no
place outside
the books
i understand and frankly
i do not have to tell him how i feel about it
inside the pages
the stories are too many
my hero is dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If you take a book of a thousand pages on the Second World War, in which 50 million people died, the concentration camps occupy two pages and the gas chambers ten or 15 lines, and that's what one calls a detail.
quote by Jean-Marie Le Pen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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