Creating Your Own Meaning
you wake up one day
finding yourself in the same dark and damp room
same dusty curtains
smelling like dried fish
light coming from the window
greets you with
hello, welcome
you are nothing special
you are just like everybody else
for one thing
your heart does not remember
what was that despair all about
you wash your face
brush your teeth
change clothes
walk outside
the world is still the same
it does not bother about you or
anybody else
man, you create your own meaning
no one does it for you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Marriage
Marriage for Esme began as a wide open room
with windows that let in the sunshine
and curtains so light and airy
they floated on the breeze.
Her husband's blue eyes would sparkle
with just a hint of mischief
and fun that they intrigued her,
made him special.
Then in the second year on her birthday
it seemed the room had grown dusty,
the curtains seemed dull,
the windows small.
And in the third year, without a doubt
the sun had gone down on her
and the room held a chill
like her aching heart.
By the fifth year, she'd aged,
her eyes had shadows, her skin had paled
and the room seemed small
with no windows at all.
She had shriveled, was withdrawn,
she'd sit in the corner of the room humming,
rocking back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth........
poem by Ruth Walters
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Tuesday Morning
I remember,
Stormy weather,
The way the sky looks when it's cold
And you were with me,
Content with walking,
So unaware of the world
[bridge]
Please don't drive me home tonight,
'Cause I don't want to feel alone,
Please don't drive me home tonight
'Cause I don't wanna go
[chorus]
Tuesday morning,
In the dark
I was finding out,
Who you are oh
I took your picture,
While you were sleeping,
Then I paced around the room
If I had known then,
That, these things happen,
Would they have happened with you? Ho ohh
[bridge]
[chorus]
And if you turned around to see me,
And I was gone oh oo woo
Should have looked outside your window
'Cause the sun was coming up ho oo woo
The sun was coming up oh ho oo woo, ho
Please don't drive me home tonight,
'Cause I don't want to feel alone,
Tuesday morning,
In the dark
We were finding out,
Who we are
Tuesday morning,
In the dark oh, oh
We were finding out,
Who we are, who we are ho woo oo oh ho woo oo oh
Who we are, who we are ho, woo oo oh
Who we are
song performed by by Michelle Branch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gary Granada’s definition of a house
A shanty of cartons as walls
Some tin for roof
Several cuttings of tin
And some worn out rubber tires
To keep the tin roofs
In place
Ten persons reside there
Too crowded
Smell of dead fish
Smell of decayed fish
And dried urine
Rodent and human urine
Hotter than the
Temperatures of
An Arizona desert
Patches of wasted wood
Planks of leftovers
Undefined window frames
There is no comfort
Room or living
Room or bed or
Sala
Every floor
Every patch
Is a bed, a room,
A kitchen
All in one
For ten people or more
Is this what you call a house?
Gary Granada is singing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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S4
now i am hearing the rushing steps
of the fish vendor
towards the market
passing by the road fronting
my blinds
a busy day,
the red ant below my feet is at it again
finding some crumbs
of cookies
under the computer table
beside the swivel chair
i always have a word
despite,
the ant wonders
why are you doing this?
the nails have no feelings
and so are the feet of the chairs
the monitor is a eunuch
the room fills itself with so much mess
rambling books
scattered papers still unread
piling folders and
dusty nooks
the light brown curtains need
badly a laundrywoman
the walls are calling for a painter
and the floors yell for a scrubbing and mopping
this is the earth of being
needing an updat a cleansing of some sort
a deluge perhaps
and what must remain must only be the essentials
a pen a piece of paper
discard the table and the chair
for man can squat
and still relate to what is bare and empty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Draw String
The curtains in my living room
lift and fall
gracefully
as I pull their strings each day;
marking the rise and fall of each
season
and each day in between-
punctuation
for the life between you and me.
Like my skirts
they lifted first
and fell
on our wedding bed
on our wedding night-
and now gracefully on special nights;
They rose to the realities
of married life-
fell during our dark times-
and ring during the good times
with loving making
and bedroom laughter.
I cannot
each time I draw
the strings
but marvel
at morning light;
folding away yet
another night
with you.
.
My curtains offer me regularity
which is comforting to me.
I dust them-
not often enough
worn with the years;
uplift them
for the view of the garden
and you coming home
over the back fence.
I draw them each time
anticipating
magically
in doing
so
you, too,
are drawn
home
to my bosom
each day.
Watch
as I draw
this string.
You'll see:
He'll be there
coming over
the back fence;
home to me.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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{{{ A Special Fish For Me? }}}
Yes there are many fish out in the sea,
but why can't I find one that will
best suit me,
well, I mean the fish in the sea are free,
yet all I keep doing is coming up is empty,
I start to believe,
then I begin to see, that, well, there just isn't one out there for me.
I go down to the sea, and I just look around,
well, again, there are no fortunate fish to be found!
Everyday I still continue to go down by the sea and sit down on the sand,
I look across the ocean and wonder is there another kind of
land to see,
to be able to relax and not have to act on command?
There is a fish for me,
because this is the way I was told it IS to be,
there has just gotta be that
special fish for me!
poem by Linda I. Weischedel
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Her Hands Are Stronger Now
she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.
She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.
How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?
Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.
Life is over.
Game is over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dreams to Nightmares
I stare at the wall and close my eyes
I started to dream about parts of the world
Beaches to oceans to schools of fish
My dreams turn to nightmares after awhile
The cool, damp beach where sand comes to rest
The emptiness in the pastel blue sky
The sand placed perfectly in place
The smell of salt water against the shore
The crystal clear ocean calm as can be
The current not even moving sea life
Fish eating at the bottom by the sand
The sound of calm waves hitting the shore
The colorful fish ranging from green to blue
Fish from all different sizes
The sound of fish jumping out of the ocean
They swim without a government to follow
The beaches turn to cemeteries
The oceans turn dark gray, and fish floating dead
The sky black as can be with flashes of light
You wake up realizing life is so much different
poem by Kasondra Sytnik
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Worn Out
last night after the usual
three-hour lecture of the law
i arrive late in the house
without the lights on
it is a blackout of some
metaphors
but the heart has been
numbed
and the mind has been
shut out
from having any contact
with any object
of affection
the hands open the car
and the feet move on
to the room
where the bed waits
it is dark in here
and the window is closed
and the air is thin
and the walls are damp
with all the
mildews still clinging
on the white tiles of
the bathroom
as though in a trance
i have thrown all the books
on the dusty floor
and without having to remove
my shirt
and pants and socks
and shoes
i retreat to the nooks
of a very sound sleep
i must have been dreaming
hearing my own
snore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song of a Winter Attic
Sheets of white ice double the frozen glass,
the net curtains break the ice light and the
smell of damp books and insects, autumn apples,
moments of childhood under eaves,
I am not in sorrow apart from sorrowing, a terrible desire
is born to stop clocks, victims of time and snow and
my grave is hidden under dusty floorboards, so
scratching with broken fingers I search for my sorrow.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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Midnight Special
Well you wake up in the mornin'
When the ding-dong ring (ding 'em man, ding 'em)
Go over to the table
See the same old (damn) thing
Nothing put upon the table
And nothin' in my pan
Say anything about it
I get in trouble with the man
Let the midnight special
Shine a light on me
Let the midnight special
Shine it's ever lovin' light on me
If you ever go to houston
Oh well you better walk right
You better not stagger
And you better not fight
Or the sheriff gonna 'rrest you
Lord, and carry you down
And if the jury find you guilty
You're penitentiary bound
But let the midnight special
Shine a light on me
Let the midnight special
Shine it's ever lovin' light on me
Let the midnight special (hoo)
Shine a light on me
Let the midnight special
Shine it's ever lovin' light on me
Yonder comes miss rosie (yeah) (oh yeah)
How in the world do you know? (i be low)
Well i know her by her apron (oh yeah)
And the dress she wore
Umbrella on her shoulder
Piece of paper in her hand (yeah)
She's a-gonna tell the captain
You tell him listen man
Let the midnight special
Shine a light on me
Let the midnight special
Shine it's ever lovin' light on me
(me, me, me)
Let the midnight special
Shine a light on me
Well let the midnight special
Shine it's ever lovin' light on me
Well i done my time boy (well, yeah)
Who they caught with a crime
Well the man ain't call me
He done be ridin' down the line
But let the midnight special
Shine a light on me (yeah)
Let the midnight special
Shine it's ever lovin' light on me
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Room in the Heart
The apartment of the heart
A reserved room of vacant
Every day clean at night
Close the door and switch off light
Somebody wants to occupy
Allowed not me by locked key
Pain and hope of dreamy
One day light up coming with beauty
Descended moon though it disappear
Ascended life dreams in very clear
Gap of space is not so far near
Path through rainbow can visit here
Instant message or constant mail
Will give a surprise to cook tasty meal
Setting the table light up the candle
Finding the way and when rings the bell
Offer the key to open the room of my heart
Will see the picture hung on the wall of white
Touch up the untold secret poetic word
Open the window to come fresh wind
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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The Room
(chris waters/tom shapiro)
When I pull in the drive where your car used to be
It doesnt hurt me like it used to
I can walk through the door, and not wonder anymore
Where you are, like I used to
I can go down the hall, see the pictures on the wall
And not miss you
But I just cant bring myself to go into..
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Id remember too much if I opened that door
And Im not sure if I could face it
The beds emptiness would remind me youre with
Someone else, and I couldnt take it
So, I sleep on the couch in our living room now
Since our love died
cause Im still not ready yet to go inside...
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Where the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Idea Not As A Ray Of Light....
an idea is not always a ray of light
it can be a mirror under your bed beside your shoes
reflecting a ray of light from a leak of the wall
of your room dressed with curtains
when you lie there thinking about nothing
saturated about this modern opulence without
any efflorescence at all
you face the window
as usual you have closed it
there is no light there is only this faint sound
of the wind
this suppressed sobbing of lamentation
there is no light at all
and so the idea about faintness and fading
becomes a Sensurround
evidently it has lulled you to a deep
sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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6th Nonsense
The room is dark, I die.
Like painting the wind, it's impossible.
If oranges were gray we might call them 'Grays'
That would be groovy.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
If there's rain in Spain would it make it to Maine?
I don't think so.
Everything's Zen?
I don't think so.
The room is dark I die.
The room is dark, I die.
I want to drift through lavender fields like honey on a cotton ball.
Dig it.
But the high-talking motorcross bandits won't let me.
The sorrow.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
But if I were in Punjab I never would have seen the quartet.
If only quartets had 7 people.
That's alright because bunsen burners don't cost much.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
That's my favorite Bible verse.
I think it's in Lushiticus, or Nueteronomy.
The hail storms don't mean anything when you're a unicorn anyway.
The room is dark, I die.
poem by Sledge Hammer
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Window
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
You know that I've been there
when I couldn't find an open door
and then he consoled me
and showed me what I was looking for.
Bridge:
I just wanna talk the time to say
his love will never go away
and when its dark no light to see
he brings away
oh my god has
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
I know what your thinking
its seems that its too good to be true
but just when I need him
he's known for always coming through.
Bridge:
I just wanna talk the time to say
his love will never go away
and when its dark no light to see
he brings away
oh my god has
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright.
God has given me a window
and I can finally see the light.
And though I felt like going under
I know its gonna be alright
song performed by by Out Of Eden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll Wait When You Finally Say, You Don't Love Me Anymore
i will not be dumb but i will be very patient
i know how to figure out
to decipher glances and appearances
the way your finger moves when you hand me
my clothes the way you find disgust in my underwear
but i will not waste any of the words i have saved
for the years i will keep them locked with key
your dreams are no longer my dreams
somehow we no longer look in the same direction
as we used to
gazing in the stars at night and giving them names
when we say
i love you and i love you too
some stars fell and you tell me they are but meteorites
ordinary occurences, and they do not mean any wishes
i can tell the changes in the skies
i can tell the coming of the storm and i am always prepared for them
there will be no surprises
when you will call me by my name and you say you want
a heart to heart talk
something to shake me but i will listen attentively
you will have no questions
just mere declarations about the river that dried
about the fish that died and you counted them all
there are no stars to light this darkness
this room where the air is free to go from window to window
i will wait when you will finally say
what i already know and i will be patient
then you must go and then i must as a solemn duty
close this door and never shall i open it again
i will not watch you go and dissolve in a distance
i will not cry, i am saving my tears for the right occasion
the tears of joy and this happiness that finally
in my solitude i still love myself
(you will never know, how i have waited for this moment)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside A Crowded Room
inside a crowded room
are litters
waste papers, mongol pencils
on the floor,
crumpled sheets of bond paper
paper glasses, and used plastic spoons
a chicken bone
dried catchup and
morsels of bread that the ants
start to take away
light has entered the slits
of the walls
this early morning
it is humid and dark
and i am bringing this white
porcelain vase
put it some water
not filling it to the brim
i have this red rose
that i pick from the garden
i put it there
i open the window
what is it? my friend
i let delight enter the crowded room
and i want it to stay there for a while.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Morning Poetry
a gray cat so gentle
sleeping beside my easy chair
soft wind enters the window
from the far mountain
the white silky curtains
by the window
sway to the direction of the wind
a red rose blooms on the side
of the limestone wall
horse grazing on the grassy plain
a white dog runs toward a wooden gate
a car stops on the yard near the veranda of this old house
a brother from far announces his arrival
hot coffee and pancakes on the table
fumes of white rice and smoke from the grilled fish
faint classical Mozart music plays on the cassette
light from the sun penetrating the screen of the dining window
a black and white family picture on top of the family piano
grandpa on his military uniform as mother carries father on her arms
memories flood the room and words keep creeping like worms
i want to say that there are no termites on this house but that would be a lie.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Finding Out
Theres something wrong, I cant get my finger on it
I must be looking over something
Sometimes at night Ive had to fight with this emptiness
Its been so hard to see, theres something more than this
Im finding out, Im finding out
Yeah it took a little ti me to get what love was about
But honey Im coming round
Im finding out
Ive had enough of all this hard core loneliness
I dont think pain is so romantic
Im just a working man
I feel each day go by
I couldnt understan d I was too weak to fight
But Im finding out, Im finding out
It took a little time for me to stand up and shout
But honey Im coming round, Im finding out
I have to thank you baby, honey I must confess
You have pulled me from this river of loneliness
Im finding out, baby Im finding out
Yeah it took a little time to get what love was about
But honey Im coming round
Im finding out
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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