Each Poem That You Are Reading
each poem that you read
is a product of painful eyes
from the excruciating grief
of the heart
from those exhausted fingers
still moving till nigh-time
the writer is a psychosomatic bleeder
so you see no stain whatsoever
it is only when things are too near
that you feel pain and acknowledge it
but when you travel and create distances
from yourself
when you drift like a cloud
(the usual cliche for drifters)
or perhaps a raft on the river
along the surges of cagayan de oro
you begin to see the most beautiful shape
of that struggle
a cheek smoothed by the flow of tears
soft hands massaged by those pains of the days
cautious lips, open mind, a heart that is finally set free
by the candidness of your thoughts
no longer entrapped by the words that you left
tied on those yellow sheets of paper
from that silent room where smoke hangs
on the ceiling.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
How the poem is treated by you
My instruction is very simple
Take the poem and read it
Casually in your room, do not
Force yourself to understand it
Just read it and tell me what
You feel,
Be kind to the poem
Like inviting it for tea
With just the two of you
As you sip
Let the poem drift like
A cloud and let it take
Its shape
Be compassionate to the poem
Let is cry for itself
If it settles for tears
And all you can do is
Just wipe its face
With your handkerchief
But you are cruel and so
Indifferent, you slap the
Poem with your right hand
And tell it straight
That you do not like it
That way it has successfully
Puzzled you
Then you leave the poem in
The rest room
It feels that it is a tissue
Paper fit for something
So ordinary waiting for
What others usually do
Wipe their anus after
A poo.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If You Could Feel My Words
If you could feel my words they'd touch you softly,
Like my hand grazing your cheek, warming your heart,
And sending you comfort and peace.
If you could hear my fingers tapping nimbly
Over my keyboard they'd be a love song,
A soft whisper chanting my soul's mantra,
Quietly calling your name.
If I could make love to you with pen and paper
You'd feel my thoughts as intensely
As they pour from my mind.
My fingers strumming over the keys
Would be caresses gliding over your skin,
A kiss on your sweet lips,
On your neck a gentle bite.
If I could make you love me with a poem
My phrases would wrap around you like
Silk metaphors tickling your senses.
The stanzas binding your heart to mine
As rhymes charm and seduce you into submission.
Our days would be a jaunty limerick
And our nights a passionate ballad.
If only you could feel my words.
poem by Susan Brealey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beyond the grief.
It seems as if we are stalled by our grief,
unable to move away from it – and I wonder
if we will ever get over the loss of you. In time
they say we will, that one day we will finally be free
of the sadness that burdens our hearts, and we will dance
in our remembrance, and there will be no more tears.
But if that's true, I must admit I will miss the tears
when there is an eventual easing of the grief.
I am not as eager to begin the dance
of life without you, for the world has lost its wonder
for me, some of its shine - and being free
seems awfully relative - I suppose just like time.
I can still so clearly recall the last time
we were all together - the tears
we shared, even laughter, when you were set free
of this earthly pain - and even in our grief,
we were filled with such wonder
as we witnessed the end of life's dance.
When I was a little boy you used to let me dance
on the top of your shoes, moving in time
to the music on the radio. Is it any wonder
that music, to this day, brings tears
of joy, mingled with the ever-present grief,
which still has not set me completely free.
I now realize there is a cost to love; it's not free -
for when you love, you buy a ticket to the dance
of life - which comes with joy and pain, celebration and grief.
And if you have lived a long enough time,
as I have, even when the loss brings never ending tears,
with a broken heart, it's worth all of the pain, and it's no wonder
people love so fiercely - so much so that they cease to wonder
about the why, when or where - and now I realize that I am free
to love, and to lose, which will bring with it many tears.
But each tear is worth it - and seems to make the dance
more authentic. In the end, I will measure my time
by how much of it was filled with love, and with grief.
No longer will I wonder whether or not I should dance,
I will just be free, stepping in and out of time,
wearing my tears like a badge of honor as I move beyond the grief.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poem Without A Title
It's not always beautiful or eloquent
My pain on paper
Sometimes it lacks finesse
It's a dull ache
Sometimes it screams
Because it can no longer stand encased
Quiet, silent, soft as a dove's feather
Like eyes welling up with tears
Lips quivering as teeth bite
Into the back of my lower lip
Hands clench into fists
As nails quietly, but forcefully dig
Into flesh
Leaving grooves..
My pain sometimes wants to scream
Sometimes, it is so beautiful in its tragedy
It's like a fine sad ballet
A piece of violin music mourning
The moon glowing as a beautiful orb
Alone in the sky
Blood on snow
It has its own life
My pain is not always visible
Sometimes the words dance before my eyes
Only to die
Disintegrate into thin air before I capture them
My pain, is not always mine.
poem by Rabia Minhas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Of Those Things
There's no mistakin' what's takin' place here
I can't pretend anymore
You know that I love you, but it's not enough to
Keep you away from that door
Now it's too late to wonder, what's left to be tried
Your mind is made up, and my hands are tied
It's just one of those things that I can't do nothing about
Your love is something that I'm going to have
To learn to live without
I could beg, I could plead, and get down on my knees
But I think I finally figured it out
It's just one of those things that I can't do nothing about
So bring on the tears, and bring on the heartaches
Let me get on with my pain
If this is goodbye then let's get it over
There's nothing left to explain
Now God knows I've tried, I've tried for so long
What's left of my heart will have / To be strong
CHORUS
Well it's all i can stand, but it's out of my hands
Your leaving is leaving more room for doubt
It's just one of those things, I can't do nothing about
song performed by by Pam Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Inner Capsule (Element Of The Ensemble Part II)
I just can't take it anymore
Knees and hands bolted to the floor
The smoke is coming down on me
Will I just suffocate or be
The room now empty as I see
Locked doors, no windows, dark to be
Lightning and thunder I do feel
As my worst nightmare becomes real
And now that I've been left alone
I get my chance, enter the zone
In wich my deepest thoughts occur
And where I speak in silent words
Wonder what will become of me
Will I just suffocate or be
Help me!
Wonder what will become of me
Will I just suffocate or be
Silence spreads, I hear my gasp for air
My heart beats faster as seconds, few to spare
I feel the pain, eyes strongly shut together
Last scream comes out, and then I feel the power
Wonder what will become of me
Will I just suffocate or be
A sheet of paper lies in front of me, blank
Emotions trapped insidem infinite rank
Cannot seem to extrivert the feel
Imprisonment of days turns into years
song performed by by Quo Vadis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Tonight all windows are opened wide
Tonight all windows are opened wide
Tonight all hearts blasted in pain converge to heal
Tonight all gentle soft words pay to mend and to appeal
Between us they flow said undisturbed by vain pride
Time has traveled us so far
Broken heart shall we let it journey us forth more
To the end of our painful path; till the last dropp of love’s soar
Where finally we may find the virtue between us, the goodness of our stars
Someone is weeping on a pillow dry
Someone is gasping at the door knob asking why
Let all soft gentle words flow between two of us
And heal and cure all pains to the very last.
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
Beauty Is You
Every day of my life, I see beauty around me
The smile of a child, a new dawn, even a tree
But the most beautiful thing is you
All objects coloured sky-blue are beautiful too
A gymnast's performance, a dolphin in the sea
green landscapes, millions of birds flying free
But the most beautiful thing is you
Your hair, your eyes and even your owl tattoo
Looking at your pic when you were only seven
anyone would say -this child fell from Heaven-
Years go by and you still keep such childish smile
when met you at the station, your cute face caught my eye
Beautiful is your mind, and also your heart
your feelings and thoughts, your fingers on the guitar
Beauty is to see you happy, instead of sad
moving forward and not looking back
Beautiful are the tears you have shed for me
they say more than all words on a paper could be
yeah, you are full of beauty, but beautiful is too
the unconditional love I deeply feel for you
DEDICATED TO PAUL J.DORLING
poem by Eva Marrero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Restlessness Of The Spirit
to chat after midnight
and to continue to read even
when the eyes begin to fail to see the light
to write
whatever comes to mind
another poem
recalling the past
mistakes uncorrected
a new word to redeem what the self lost
retracing the patterns of the usual
hands in surrender
fingers without thoughts but still moving to capture a syllable
fretting flitting
whatever
sleep that seems cruel to
dreams
this inability to choose to cease then i tell myself
i do not really know a thing anymore.
about you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Writings Of A Writer
When my life is in despair
Against the wall I stand
And out the window stare
Towards the soft clouds
That seem to drift over head
Then in my mind a thought
Buds and blooms into an inspiration
My hand reaches out for papers and pen
Then as thoughts materialize in my mind
Words to describe it become frequent
Then with pen in hand and paper against the wall
I begin to describe everything my mind saw
Things of beauty, things grotesque
Moments of happiness, moments of stress
All captured within an inspiration
After a moments thought
And put down on paper
As a poem, book or a song
After it has been manipulated into shape
Within all the tenderness it can get
The format is laid out and the final closing set
(date written unknown)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Only In My Mind
thoughts fire
mind blaze
run on wind
words sing mind melodies
words sing song new images
dance in heart veins flow
words shape shift
into new thoughts
concepts poems
several are written
in time heart beats
wonder stirs anew
but only in my mind
where the beauty sings
sung sight meditation
no words given unto paper
no words processed on light screen
no words kept mind record
dart of honeybird flight
bats fly sonar night vision
wing beats of wonder
words released born free
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Taking A Glance At You
taking a glance at you
is poetry in itself, by itself and for itself.
there are words in my eyes
they speak in silence. They long to tell you what i feel.
there are hands on my lips. There are fingers there.
They long to go near you and kiss your lips too.
i see you as words too. Your eyes are images of my
own happiness. Your lips are shaping the shapes of ships
and they have sails to take me away to ecstacies.
i feel you as words of love, and lust and desire insatiable.
my fingers want to read every syllable in your face.
you have always been my poem.And there are so many of you
in all of them.
words, and images, and ecstacies. faces and compositions.
i love all of them. And this time i take a glance again.
at you. this poem. this is you. Believe me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I Look On
When i look back
Past the tears and the pain
I don't see alot
I close my eyes to try to see
Love and beauty
But all i can feel
Are the hot tears rolling down my face
I open my eyes where things are blured
I see nothing but scars
Pain i still feel
From now and the past
My eyes cry when closed
They see pain in themselfs when open
So now i must look on
Tears will still flow
For the Pain i still feel
But if looking on means moving on
Pain in the past
Tears are for now
Then i will look on
For these things i already know
Maybe things will be different
When i look on
poem by Sally Minns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Even if my life without you comes to a halt
(for M)
I
Even if my life without you comes to a halt,
even if I see your face in those of other women
I continue with the steps of each day,
while I have got to give you up.
Daisies are flowering; roses open in the garden,
the sun hangs yellow-gold in the cobalt sky;
and when each morning I go to town
I return again back home
and although this separation
makes me feel very much alone
and comes between us with distance
there is still the wind whose fingers play over me
and I am not connected to your humanity anymore
while I try to find my way into the wide world.
Sometimes I drive long distances
when my motorbikes comes to life under me.
II
When my motorbikes comes to life under me,
I am aware of the world around me
as when I left the house that we did share,
my hand was on the throttle
while streets, traffic lights and cars just glided past
and I had been so without even God in that event;
with a city, a whole world that came between you and me
as if there is no mercy and I had been punished
and had to jump to the way of destiny and your wishes
with trucks, cars and pickups on the highways
as if our love did not anymore speak to your heart
while everything moved on in our separation
and when I opened the throttle we finally took our farewell
when my world disappeared into the naught.
III
When my world disappeared into the naught,
when there was nothing that remained between us,
when far too many things had come between us,
when too many words, acts
broke our bond to pieces,
in pain that distorts,
until no oblivion comes and memories remain
with the meaning
that we still adore each other,
then I wonder
why you draw a world between us,
why you send me off to hell
and force us to live in different places
while your love still reaches out to me?
IV
While your love still reaches out to me,
I wonder how I can affect
that which was high and holy
here with words written in pain,
how I can force destiny to a standstill
and put something that was honourable and pure
on only a piece of paper,
when I rather want to throw my pen down?
Let me rather remember your bright eyes,
your hot lips that could tell me about your world,
that opened softly under mine,
how your body softly tilted
with the lights of the city in the distance,
when the leaves whirl in and out.
V
When the leaves whirl in and out
in the depths of your soul,
blow as against the windows,
wrecking the last days to dust,
when the first signs of winter come
and I am stripped from old dreams and every expectation
with signs of my disrepair all around,
when nothing remains of my passion and yearning
it is as if the last summer already fades,
as if I am destined to death,
as if never again something great will come,
as if I stand alone against life and the whole world
and still when love remains
the surprise is pass time, place and meaning.
VI
The surprise is pass time, place and meaning
with the shining glance in the eyes
or did you only pretend at times?
My darling, now a rainbow of tears
hang over your cheeks
as if the falling rain forces you to struggle
with the problems of the world,
as if the lightning bolts of life fall around us
and your eyes have caught somebody else,
in the mystery of your heart,
it is somebody else to whom you long
and the sky is covered with darkness,
its cold and the atmosphere somewhat chilly,
in the evenings it's so very silent.
VII
In the evenings it's so very silent
that I can hear my own breathing
as if in the night I loose time and meaning,
as if I do not want to go any further,
as if I do not want to waste time
on our past love,
and think over and over again
while you frolic somewhere else.
Days have a own way
with events occurring unplanned
and I wonder from where I get my poems
as the world lies open before me
and I do not want to let anything else vex my poetry,
even if my life without you comes to a halt.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pain Pain by cedrick dennis
Pain Pain over here pain over there Pain in my heart pain in my soul Pain in my mind Pain in my skin pain in my bones Pain being caused left and right Pain being caused till the heart bleeds red Pain being caused till the skin and bone rip Pain being caused till you break into tears Pain at school Pain at home Pain in my head, pain in my heart Pain in my mind, pain in my soul Pain happening in my sleep Pain happening in my thoughts Pain happening when I’m alone Pain happening in the shower, in my room, in my bed, in my house where I’m all alone Pain happening every hour, every minute, every second of my life Pain caused by anger and hate Pain caused by hurt Pain caused by greed Pain caused by sorrow and depression Pain caused by grief and confusion Pain caused by your family and friends Pain caused by the world Pain caused by people you love Pain driving me crazy Causing me to take pills till it fills up my veins I go to sleep never to wake up and see that light The light that will end my pain for good
poem by Cedrick Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In my closet
In throes of grief wit no pal nigh
my aches let out in trembling sigh
no hi from all my dearie pals
they all and sundry wandering far
just alone with me an I
no one to help dry my tearfilled eye
bleeding heart and griefsick mind
not a joy around to find
grief sticking like a second skin
sticking closer than a next of kin
so much pains for my lowly age
leaving me pleading for a saving grace
a grace to help end my painful seige
in which im so clamped in grief
so at least my tears would cease
and my pains could really ease.
poem by Saintdc Reward
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!