Did I Imagine Someone Else That Time?
we are here in this abandoned house
let us go inside and find out what is left here
the pillars are still tall and nailed to each other
time did not touch the stairs
perhaps they are so insignificant
there is that bed where we spent the moments of youth
your moans are missing
the head board is dusty and the termites ate the legs
it is uneven now, and to hold itself it leans on the side table
when you were on top of me
i closed my eyes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Hold Me
I've tried so many times 2 erase your memory from my mind
Yet, it doesn't ever last 4 long
I see your picture then I hear your voice
Our love must be stronger than before
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Hold me
Here I stand defenseless as I look into your eyes
There's nothing left 2 say or do
U fill my head with promises and all your pretty lies
Would it be so wrong 2 want U by my side?
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
I'm captured by my senses, lost in your reverie
Our love must be stronger than before
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Oh, hold me, babe (Hold me)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Touch me (Hold me)
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
I wanna hold U, baby (Hold me)
(Hold me, touch me, kiss me all over)
Every time I hear your voice (Touch me)
Hold me, kiss me all over (Hold me)
Every time I see your eyes (Touch me)
Kiss me, baby (Hold me
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vagabonder
it is a long trail
it rains so hard
you are wet and you come
upon a home of an
abandoned house to shelter
you finally
amid the tall trees
and wild grass
and darkness
the house has
a door which is closed
and a window
without light
you try taking the stairs
but the snake is there first
and it has become its
territory
it is tiring
the night is deep
the rain falls so hard
you are cold
but by then you have to
move some more
to find
time
whether it holds
a place for you
whether luck
is near
whether life still
cares.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time To Let Go
Say nothing, I will understand
Im on your side, Im your biggest fan
You dont need to tell me, any precious lies
Cos I wont believe them, when I look in your eyes
Every kiss from your lips sends a message
Every touch of your hand, tells me so
In my heart Im already missing you
Darlin I know, its time to let go
Im tryin to convince myself
When I tell you, I will just find somebody else
Cos I know inside me, it will only be
Because I realise, youd truly do the same for me
Every kiss from your lips sends a message
Every touch of your hand, tells me so
In my heart Im already missing you
Darlin I know, its time to let go
Maybe I just need to get used to it and Ill be fine
Cos I think I recognise
One by one those tell tale signs
Dont worry, you could never hide
Anything from me, I know youre cryin deep inside
Every kiss from your lips sends a message
Every touch of your hand, tells me so
In my heart Im already missing you
Darlin I know, its time to let go
Every kiss from your lips sends a message
Every touch of your hand, tells me so
In my heart Im already missing you
Darlin I know, its time to let go
song performed by by Paul Carrack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pillars Of Our Society
see the pillars of our society.
the church, the provincial and municipal halls,
the university, the house of the family,
try to hold these pillars and feel their
strength and width, you think that they are
too strong to protect you
try piercing each pillar with the questions
deep from your heart
ask if they are that strong to make you
strong too
and protect you till the last breath
of your suffering and pain
ask more questions and find out the answers
from all these pillars
lean on them, and touch them and
shoot them with the bullets of your
quizzical looks
listen carefully to the correct answers
and stare at all of them
slowly, these pillars will crumble
and turn to powder for in truth there is no
other pillar stronger than what
they have constructed for you through all these years
except the pillar that your body built
on your legs from the bottom of your feet
it is you ultimately that you can only lean on
you to protect you
till the last breath of you is finally taken away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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People's Indifference
people who pass
by the house
always stop a while
taking time
to look at the window
which is closed
the whole day
the stairs still have
dry leaves
at the back of the house
a boy is screaming
the fence is closed
and a white dog is yelping
wanting to go inside
as people pass by the house
stop a while take time to
have a glimpse
and then leave
doing nothing about it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Is A Boat
this is a boat and it is in my hand
the hand is the sea
and my fingers keep it wavy
this is the boat and it is wooden
and it is loaded unevenly on its left side
and so it leans on the heavy
edge like it is a man
with a shorter left foot
and walks like the
floor is uneven
and imperfect
this is my body and it has become an ocean
and the boat sails on without the sun
my eyes the moon and stars
and they are closed
this is the darkness where the boat sails
and this is the silence
of its journey
this is my mind
and everything: the boat, the sea, the ocean
the tilting, the weight of the load,
things exist because i let them so
this is my hand and this is the sea of waves
these emotions
this is the mouth speaking
without any sense at all like a woman nude
running for life away from the atomic bomb
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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THE RUINS, Lacson house
THE fountain
gives the sense of spring
on this abandoned place
the ruins
somehow, despite the
emptiness
provides a home
for
completeness
as you begin
to fill in what is missing
inside
your mind
this is greatness
remaining
despite the
horror of time passing by
as i touch the pillars
i feel a world
beyond us
as i walk the stone floors
i know that there is still
stability
to what we were once
after
we are finally gone
i sip brewed coffee
on one of those antique tables
as Mozart sonata plays
actually it rained when we
arrived here
and it did not stop
and that explains why
the pictures were
blurred
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oklahoma-Texas Line
Got an old dog, it don't like me much
That thing starts to bark his head off every time we touch
Sittin' on the porch listenin' to the radio
We sing every single song we know
Even the ones we don't
When she moves a little closer
She puts her hand in mine
Oh what I wouldn't give to stop the hands of time
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
She's got a part time job at the Tastee-freeze
She took the weekend off to spend a little bit of time with me
I got an old car we drove to the edge of town
We stopped by Old Man Millers' farm
Just to watch the world spin around
And she moves a little closer
She puts her lips to mine
Ain't funny how the good Lord out does himself sometimes
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house with a black top drive
Big oak tree with our names carved on the side
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house, little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Oh here they come
Long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
Everything I love...
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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X
in this house of mine
there are many rooms and windows and stairs
you are invited
to take your rest and mind each piece
of myself
displayed and open for view
and even for touch
and even
for your tasting
not even for a moment but for a long time
for as long as all these shall last
but there is one door that you cannot open
one window that is closed
one room which is dark
there is nothing there except my secret longing
no one opens it for no one can
no one sees what is inside it for no one can
there is this fruit in my tree of paradise
that you cannot taste
and touch
and even see
it is only for me and i do not really like it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Only One
Chorus:
You are my only one
You are my only one
Well Im telling you now youre my only one
Ive got two long legs like to carry me
Two sharp eyes to look for the fight
Two strong arms to hold on tight
Two good friends on my left and right
But only one only one
Chorus:
You are my only one you are my only one
Dont be leaving me now youre my only one
Theres only one road before me
Too many turns in the way
Thousands of things to do today
Millions of moments I must admit
But only one only one
Chorus
Taken for granted and pushed aside
All that it wanted was a place to run and hide
Missing message in a hollow tree
Hidden deep inside a memory
And the memory seems like dreams
Hundreds of hopes in the past
Nevertheless it was never the last
Hold on strong or you fade out fast
And only one only one
Chorus
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When You Have Nothing At All To Say
there are days of drudgery
hours that drag, months that you think are too long
like mountain trails that you feel you cannot really tread
years that look like tall buildings without elevators
you are stunned by all these
you hold the railings of the stairs and wait and then you decide
to just sit there
the passers-by look at you
could be something like disdain
you let them stare at you and you do not stare back
you look down the dusty floors
this is the time when you have nothing at all to say
hoping to find that peace within
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Tree House
As children, my dearest friend and
I began planning to build a tree
house. We searched until we
finially found the perfect tree.
Along with our brothers, we began
to gather wood, and pieces of
fragments for the roof. When all
the material was gathered, the
construction began.
We worked day after day, endlessly
until we saw the tree house coming
together. Little by little it took
shape. At last it was time for the
curtains to be hung.Our lovely dish
towels were hung from tree limbs.
Now for the furniture. Old boards
were nailed together for our chairs.
Little pieces of cloth attached for
the covers.We were getting ready to
move in. In our childish eyes, it
was so beautiful.
So many happy hours were spent there.
Every afternoon when we arrived home
from school, we met at our tree house.
We talked, laughed, whispered secrets.
Enjoyed our tea parties, and the time
spent there.
One summer afternoon, sad news arrived.
My friend was moving to another city,
far away.Leaving me and the tree house
behind. Inside I cried. Suddenly I
was alone. Now it seemed so big and
lonely.Before so small and full of
life.
As we walked away that hot summer
afternoon so long ago, holding hands.
we knew life for us would never be
the same. We made a pledge to each
other and set a date someday we would
return.
Our tree house remained, but started
looking old and battered from the
storms of life.I no longer went
there, as I also moved on to another
city. Before leaving I returned to
our childhood fantasy, saddened and
whispered goodby. Walked away with
tear filled eyes.Promising to return
someday.
The years have flown by, and today
I am returning to the place I so
loved as a child. Looking at the
house old and worn. yet so lovely
and inviting.
Climbing the broken ladder, I went
inside. Our curtains were tattered
but still remain. Side by side our
dolls were sleeping in their tiny
beds. On the table a tiny tea set.
Attached to my friends doll a note
reading.
DEAR HEATHER;
I cannot attend our tea party today,
as we planned.Someday we will meet
at the big tree house in the sky.
There we will drink our tea from
from golden goblets. I am here now,
setting the table, and preparing
the tea for our party, waiting
to welcome your arrival
Your childhood friend, with love
Mary:
poem by Heather Burns
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Bullets
Walking around I hear the earth seekihng relief
I'm trying to find a reason to live
But the mindless clutter my path
Oh these thorns in my side
I know I have something free
I have something so alive
I think they shoot cause they want it
I feel forces all around me
Come on raise your head
Those who hide behind the shadows
Live with all that's dead
[Chorus]
Look at me... look at me
At least look at me when you shoot a bullet through my head
Through my head
Through my head
Through my head
I'm my lifetime when I'm disgraced
By jealousy and lies
I laugh aloud 'cause my life
Has gotten inside someone else's mind
Look at me...look at me
At least look at me when you shoot a bullet through my head
Through my head
Through my head
Through my head
Hey all I want is what's real
Something I touch and can feel
I'll hold it close and never let it go
Said why...why do we live life
With all this hate inside
I'll give it away 'cause I don't want it no more
Please help me find a place
Somewhere far away I'll go and you'll never see me again
song performed by by Creed from Weathered
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whereabouts
Where is the missing one, the missing one
Where is the missing one, the missing one
There is a missing person that Ive just got to find
Now just how long they have been gone
I cant say at this time
I glanced outside my window surprisingly to see
The reflection of a broken man who looked somewhat like me
Im trying to find my whereabouts, what shall I do
When nothing seems to follow through
In me, trying to find my whereabouts, Im turning blue
But wait I may have found a clue
My whereabouts are somewhere in yesterday with you
Where is the missing one, the missing one
I looked inside an album of happy photographs
To try to match the feeling
In the joy I used to have
I travelled through the moments that held a special place
But everytime what came to mind is that smile upon your face
Im trying to find my whereabouts, what shall I do
When nothing seems to follow through
In me, trying to find my whereabouts, Im turning blue
But wait I may have found a clue
My whereabouts are somewhere in yesterday with you
Where is the missing one, the missing one
Im trying to find my whereabouts, what shall I do
When nothing seems to follow through
In me, trying to find my whereabouts, Im turning blue
But wait I may have found a clue
My whereabouts are somewhere lost in yesterday with you
Im trying to find my whereabouts, what can I do
When nothing seems to follow through
In me, trying to find my whereabouts, Im turning blue
But wait I may have found a clue
My whereabouts are somewhere lost in yesterday with you
Where is the missing one, the missing one
(repeat)
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Absence
i have long waited
for this time
when
you cannot seduce
me anymore
like no matter what
you do
whether you spread
your legs
at 180 degrees
or lick the muscles of my
legs for
a day
all these
cannot cause a tremor
to my
layered existence
i have long waited for this
time
when i become a wall
and you wilt
as a vine
when you are but a
forgotten tendril still
fighting for a hold
in my trellis
now that time has come
and i am calling some of my friend
to dine and drink with me
and we had
a good time
recalling what you have done
to me
i told them you ruined me
and i was like a house that fell down
on the ground
dynamited
and then they all left me
when the wine is all consumed
when the food is nothing
but left-overs for the dog
now it is just me and my dog
and then the dog is asleep on the rug
beside a door
that i have not closed
somehow, i am back to this emptiness again
and i still wonder
how can i ever be a void to be filled again
like an empty glass still wishing for
the pouring of
the old wine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coffee
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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A Stare
a stare is like a stair
it has steps
and there are feet
walking,
and leaving,
you stare at me,
and i see stairs, where you walk
and climb and stop at the middle
and then take the stairs layer by layer
that is what you like to do, to look at me
as though i am this room where you build the stairs
and you want to go inside my room and lock me up
and take all of me with your tongue and hands and
mouth. You mouth me. And i receive the life you have.
and then your stare subsides. the stair is gone.
the room vanishes. I am free. And you are inside me
your stare has become the memory lingering inside me.
i become a bird and you are inside my wings.
Your stairs become my feathers. Your stare
becomes my eyes.
in love, we make the stairs leading to a house.
and there we feast, and live and sleep.
yes, there are wings and windows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An uneven lot
My hands are uneven;
The one that seeks is long
And the other that lends is short.
My eyes are uneven;
The one for women is wide
And the other for the poor is weak..
My ears are uneven;
The one for applause is sharp
And the other for critics is weak.
My heart too is uneven;
The left half is fat for lust
And the right is thin for concern
.
Everyone has turned like me;
The fabric is loosening
And selfishness brings ruins.
21.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Unbeliever
He sleeps on the top of a mast. - Bunyan
He sleeps on the top of a mast
with his eyes fast closed.
The sails fall away below him
like the sheets of his bed,
leaving out in the air of the night the sleeper's head.
Asleep he was transported there,
asleep he curled
in a gilded ball on the mast's top,
or climbed inside
a gilded bird, or blindly seated himself astride.
"I am founded on marble pillars,"
said a cloud. "I never move.
See the pillars there in the sea?"
Secure in introspection
he peers at the watery pillars of his reflection.
A gull had wings under his
and remarked that the air
was "like marble." He said: "Up here
I tower through the sky
for the marble wings on my tower-top fly."
But he sleeps on the top of his mast
with his eyes closed tight.
The gull inquired into his dream,
which was, "I must not fall.
The spangled sea below wants me to fall.
It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all."
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Inside Out
Inside out, ooh you got me inside out
Oh inside out, oh inside out
Now everybody keeps on telling me how to be
And everybody tells me do what they say
Oh Ill help myself its up to me and no-one else
But till Im ready just keep out of my way
Inside out, ooh you got me inside out
Oh inside out, oh inside out
Now everybodys got me running round, up and down
And here I am going out of my mind
But I wont lose sight of all the, the things Im looking for
Theyre coming to me and Im taking whats mine
Inside out, ooh you got me inside out
Oh inside out, oh inside out
Ill play the game
Well make the same mistakes
Its all the same
If we can give and take
Hold on, hold on, ooh
Hold on, hold on, ooh
Inside out, ooh you got me inside out
Oh inside out, oh inside out
All of my life Ive been searching and hanging on
Turning a corner, never know what Id find
But now Im back again like I never went away
Ooh let me in Im through with wasting my time
Inside out, ooh you got me inside out
Oh inside out, oh inside out
Oh inside out, ooh you got me inside out
Oh inside out, oh inside out
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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