Bad Influence...
listen
you are unhappy
and you drive
alone
on those winding
roads
of the faraway mountains
looking for nothing
finding no one
at the end
of your journey
and exhausted you stop
for a while
beside the
abandoned cottage
trying to figure out
what went wrong
and why....
i told you
it is not the heart
there is none
who has it
i advise you
it is nothing but this
flesh
these hands
are scrutineers
this body
is as warm as black coffee
and you take
the initiative of
sipping what is there
on the table
you put your arms
around you
and you lick your
lips
bland taste
of too much
restraint
your legs have taken
roots
and now
you cannot move.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Cup of mocha
You never liked
the taste of mocha
You said it was
coffee laced
with chocolate lies
I always loved it
when the chocolate
masked the coffee
Just enough, and
let it linger nice
A lie coated truth
But, truth nevertheless...
The warm cup of mocha
Stands and grows cold
outside in
Dreams, forgotten,
lie dormant
new, old within
I stretch over the table
as across continents
To hold your hands,
to cup some warmth into;
a coffee grown cold,
a life grown old
We always shared
the mocha
you sipping
seeking the coffee
While I taste
the chocolate,
wait with the coffee
We stare athwart
Our love’s passion,
no longer an obsession
It retains within us ties,
Coffee mingled with chocolate lies
You always said
“Serve me poison,
with a smile,
I will drink it too.
Please, don’t lace it
with chocolate as with
coffee you do.”
You never liked
the taste of mocha
Yet, you always
drink it with me
As you sip,
your eyes crinkle
and I smile too, with you...
poem by O. Sudhir Janardhanan
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The Winding Roads
the white innova runs
for hours on this winding road
climbing mountains
we see the green forest
beside us
we are on rocky cliffs
we see the rivers wind
down the mountains
we are inside this silence
awed
overlooking the world
somehow this break
shall make us ponder
how we wasted time
on some nooks
of depression
and unnecessary worries
about tomorrow
the winding roads
still climb up this mountain
we look back seeing
the same winding roads
you say
there is no use going back
we look forward
the thrill up there
we do not discount
there is a valley somewhere
where we soon stop
and relax
then we shall talk
about this life
about these winding roads
that seem endless
to our gazes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dream Of The Flesh
we are in the river
naked
our bodies meet
like
one body
missing
another body
and the river
becomes
one warm
water
trickling down
our two bodies
body to body
flesh to flesh
hands
to hands and
arms entwine
like some
chains of
daisies
to our necks
this oneness
that we
finally make
eyes to eyes
closing
and lips to lips
searching
tongues
we dare
search
our souls
if they
are there
too
in this
fusion
for the
meantime
we have no time
to ask
the river
has no name
even
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Long And Winding Road
we were there on those long and winding roads
i got dizzy
and you talk about them
like you talk about a love that is still to come
a tryst, a night designed for love,
a honeymoon, after a woo, a worship,
honestly, i do not love these long and winding roads,
i get dizzy all the time,
why should roads be long and winding
who ever fixed it that way? who ever ruled the earth
with long and winding roads
why can't roads be straight like the way we long
and look at the sky?
i like bridges, those long and straight ones,
my gaze is fixed, my travel determined,
you drive the car, and i sleep all through our journey.
now, i don't get dizzy at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Could Have Taken You In My Arms
i will die i know i will
and so i wish i could have taken you in my arms
and kiss your lips
and rub your body against mine
and take shelter to the warm wings of your soul
i could have listened too to the beatings of your heart
near mine
i could have listened to the songs of
love and desire
but i have become a coward
and too soon have i surrendered
to the weakness of my soul
to the tiredness of my whispers
to the smoke of the vespers
i lose myself
i travel in my car alone
i have covered a distance
mountains and roads beside
i have left you waiting and i have not left any word
where i am going
what i shall become
what shall i be doing for another set of years
throughout this loveless journey
i shall be lonely
i shall be sad
but it does not matter anymore
for soon i shall die and soon i shall take another journey taking with me the wings of time to
another place to
another moment with you
it is then my time to wait until our worlds meet again
without a wall
without a hindrance
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Ode for David
Inspiration
From a lopsided table?
Words written down
Told as a fable
Strange request you have
My dear friend
Inspiration I will find
This I do intend
Wooden Table
Possess my tongue
Wintered table
Cry from my lungs
Pen striking paper
You shall be my muse
May the bleeding ink
Cry of your blues
Splintered skin
In a corner rest forgotten
Winding legs
You stand wild as cotton
Pen stroke slide
Across your lofty floor
Three legs you stand
When you should have four
Awkward table
You have no friend
Ancient table
You've reached your bitterend
Should my pen learn sea legs
I'd love you once more
But, on three legs you stand
When you should have four
poem by Kay Gardner
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Liturgy....
liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
dont be the hollow religious image,
a body that has no love,
a love that has no body.
dont be so quick to wash your hands,
the dirt neath your nails
is your heritage!
liturgy...
black coffee,
and touching,
the shovel, and the axe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Always Find A Way To Be With You
i have my own ways
and you do not know clearly how i do them
you do not notice the way how my eyes glow when i see you
like an early morning sun
like a midnight moon looking for some arrays of stars
i always have a way to be with you and today we share a meal
together and you think that there is nothing special about it
when you take some bits of the bread when you sip your coke
when you close your eyes to the taste of the gravy
when you slowly lick the syrup of the pancake
i always have the moment of feasting on your face
of traveling to the lines of your cheeks
to the luscious lips, i settle my gaze
in a matter of just a few seconds
my heart keeps on beating and you do not hear it
i put my hands on my side i stop for a while to see a very
beautiful world in front of me
it is you.
until now, you do not know it.
that is the boundary i set
because there will be no you and i
the gentle space between is lovelier and my heart beats some more
so near and yet you are so far away
i like it this way.
my dignified self, the master of self-restraint.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All White
this afternoon you are
all white, so neat to see,
my flesh quivers
to kiss your lips
and hold your face
lick your body undressed
tonight
without all these white
trappings on
now either you are brown
or black, but just the same
my flesh quivers
for leopards and
black birds and
dark nights moaning
for love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lick My Lips
lick my lips im fading
lick my lips im fading
lick my lips im fading slowly fading into you
and keep on stop your waiting
keep on stop your waiting
dont you keep on waiting cause im walking away from you
well, we could all change
but i know that you will never change
you shut up the night and when the light hits
you talk to me
i was never so amazed
it was such a mutual craze
between you and me and me and you
lick my lips im fading
lick my lips im fading
lick my lips im fading slowly fading into you
and keep on stop your waiting keep on stop your waiting
dont you keep on waiting cause im walking away from you
you could never walk away from me
dance around but never be
you know you are the one who knows that
laugh out loud so here it goes
i was never so amazed
it was such a mutual craze between you and me and me and you
lick my lips im fading
lick my lips im fading
lick my lips im fading slowly fading into you
and keep on stop your waiting
keep on stop your waiting dont you keep on waiting cause im walking away from you
song performed by by Howie Day
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tongue Bath
Yeah, (ohhh), we got the hood rats in the house right
(Would you like a tongue bath babe)
They say they like tongue bath (from the back)
So, uh, we went and got Methron
But of course, it's the Ying-Yang Twins
Let me see you freak your body
I won't stop until you get enough
Anyway you want it, I'm with it
I just wanna get up in it
(You want a tongue bath, you need a tongue bath)
Let me see you freak your body
I won't stop until you get enough
A tongue bath, from the back
Oh yes, that's the way I like it
(You want a tongue bath, you need a tongue bath)
Forget about that Summer we stretched straight thuggin it up
In the tongue bath world we was loving it up
I've been told by the eye we were holding each other
To the room, sexual, of the Isley Brothers
Sippin' Alazez and Hennessee, straight thug passion
Licking nipples, got you gigglin', so you started to laugh
And now it's getting so erotic baby
All of a sudden so I'm kissing on your body baby
Admit it babb
See baby a tongue bath is what I like
Lick me up, lick me down, curve my appetite
Let me open up my legs, show me what you got
The way you licking on my body's got me really hot
And I'm loving the way you lick me though
Do it little daddy, let your tongue take control
You got me shaking like hell when you're licking my toes
From the top to the bottom, make your tongue roll
Let me see you freak your body
I won't stop until you get enough
Anyway you want it, I'm with it
I just wanna get up in it
(You want a tongue bath, you need a tongue bath)
Let me see you freak your body
I won't stop until you get enough
A tongue bath, from the back
Oh yes, that'
song performed by by Ying Yang Twins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
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Truck Stop Runner
Stopped off on a long drive.
Down from the high country.
Spent a long time sitting here,
Long time counting hot miles.
Ohh, oh Id like a cup of black coffee and a piece of sweet cake.
But the girl in the print dress doesnt want my money--
She wont take it: she says--
Oh she says.
Oh she says I just know youre a leo,
I can tell youve got a lions heart.
She went on in this way for a while,
Like some 60s sister playing a part.
Ohh this cup of black coffee gonna do me just fine.
Through the dust in the mirror tiles I can see that door,
Keep it close behind.
Oh she says.
She says, come on over to my house,
Make a journey here sometime.
You know theres a party going on,
A ladder in my stocking you can climb,
Theres a ladder you can climb.
Oh she looked so liberated.
She was looking fit to start.
She got this back to front and sideways,
Wore her sleeve upon her heart.
Ohhh, oh, just one more coffees bout all I can take.
Have to do a truck stop runner now.
Im not man enough to make it,
She says.
She says.
Oh she says.
She says, come on over to my house,
Make a journey here sometime.
You know theres a party going on,
A ladder in my stocking you can climb,
Theres a ladder you can climb.
Stopped off on a long drive.
Down from the high country.
Spent a long time sitting here,
Long time counting hot miles.
Ohh, oh Id like a cup of black coffee and a piece of sweet cake.
But the girl in the print dress doesnt want my money--
She wont take it: she says--
Oh she says.
She says, come on over to my house,
Make a journey here sometime.
Kick off those tired sports shoes--
Got a ladder in my stocking you can climb,
Theres a ladder you can climb.
Truck stop runner.
Ill be a truck stop runner.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unstoppable
I can't stop staring at you
When we're alone
I can't stop thinking about you
When we're apart
I can't stop dreaming of you
When I'm asleep
I just can't stop
No matter when I start
My arms keep reaching for you
When you walk by
My lips keep finding yours
In the dark
My hands keep touching you
When you are near
Emotions whisper
Desire stirs
Reality disappears
poem by Erika Wingo
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Pitch Black
You awake from a nightmare
and find the room pitch black
You notice your not on a bed
instead, a cold slab of concrete
Where am I you think
you try to move your legs
But their chained to the concrete
you begin to panic
Outside, you hear children laughing
you think of your own, and start to cry
You hear footsteps pounding up stairs
you yank the chain, hoping it would break
Something hard hits what could be a door
you stop yanking the chain to listen
You hear two voices behind the assumed door, Males
their planning something but you cant understand
Your hear a squeak, sounds like a door knob
you wait and see a line of light
A dark figure stands in the light
but his shadow blocks his face
Your heart beats faster, the room gets hotter
you feel your hands about to shake
He mumbles something as he drags in an unkown figure
the light turns on, and you see what it is
poem by Cree Stewart
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Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
gave her on her deathbed.
Old wood and plaster.
The plaster peeling from
the hands of the Crucified.
Martha gaped at Him,
at His wounds, at the wound
in His side where the spear
went in. Forgive them for
they know not. They did so,
the bastards, she muttered,
putting her fingers on the wound
in the side. She had an ebony
rosary in her skirt pocket. Black
Christ on the small ebony cross.
She fingered in her pocket, said
the prayers, felt the stiff body
on the cross. Sometimes she
took it out and kissed it; the ebony
body, the head, the arms. Once
she had a cross around her neck,
silver, small, given by some old
codger. She felt it warm between
her small breasts. Lost it when she
took it off to wash and it slipped
down the plughole in the convent bog.
She knew her mother had this wooden
crucifix on her chest of drawers.
A dark wood, a fleshy plastered Christ,
nails through and hands and feet.
She kissed the hands when her mother
was out, her lips touching the smooth
plaster, the eyes closed, the feel of
smoothness on flesh. Not the real
Christ of course. Least not yet.
She'd wait her turn. The real thing.
See what death and Heaven bring.
poem by Terry Collett
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Fixed and to be not able to move and go beyond
You have fixed yourself like a pole
On this ground unable to move and go beyond
This daintiness (you call it carnality)
What you have in your mind
Are some parts of my human body
This thigh, this navel, this nipple
My legs my lips my tongue
You even hint on
The one that rises in the morning
When I make hot water and look for coffee
And cream
The sound of sipping you said you still crave
I honestly care for you
And I may even make love with you someday
(Or you may just kiss me on my cheek)
But try looking at me as one soul in this darkness
Feel my sighs hear my gentleness
And touch that softness at the center of my being
Light me up like a candle, let the light spread
Now see this lotus in the pond and then take a glimpse
Have awe and then wonder
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love You
I love your lips when they're wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.
Not for me the cold calm kiss
Of a virgin's bloodless love;
Not for me the saint's white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world's blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.
So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we'll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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It Does Not Matter Anymore
one gets used to it
a bland food one gets used
to blandness and it does not
matter anymore whether bland is
bland or not
one suffers the tastelessness
of routine like a road without a bend
where mountains are there and they
are there without anymore significance
to you whether they cast shadows or not
whether they are tall or leveled
whether they can obstruct or they
can make you pass through
if there is a wall you stop
and you cannot pass you turn around
and find another path
it does not really matter
whether it is a lie or truth
what matters most is
this journey that you are taking
and that soon it must be over
without destruction without hurting
those who must remain
those who are still holding their
wineglasses to wait for another cheer
how many years more? it does not matter.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Uprising Roots
Uprising roots,
Blue grass in the sky;
Uprising roots,
Love under the sea;
Uprising roots,
In the deep!
White in white and,
Black in black;
But, underrated by your love.
Seven years of hope!
On the blue mountains;
And to take up a trip to let it show,
But, life is like a journey to us all.
The roots of life,
To put the stereo on!
But, i have a long way to go.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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