Ennui (whatever)
there are four corners of this room
(as usual, us usual,
we are here again, both
on a togetherness
since the early days of our
union)
i want to go away, remember the flight
of the little bird, away from its mother's nest?
but i can't, your tears are holding me
like a mother,
and so how can a son get away?
how can a lover go away and be stripped
from its beloved?
the vinyl floors are dusty
the curtains unwashed for weeks
the door creaks like a man complaining
for its usual work
to close and open
to open and close
the door has always been closed in here
there is no exit
but i shall not scream, that is too much for this
harrowing experience
there is no tv, no ref, just the sound of an AM/FM radio
that i bought from a cheap department store
i hold your hands
that is enough for me now.
i stare at the ceiling, and then i get so weary and i close my eyes
asking shelter
in the colored world of dreams.
are you happy now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
L8,2212
There is a door which you open
you enter, and then it closes you
behind you
forever,
there is no force here,
but only volition,
you enter it
with all the warnings,
that the
possibility that it will close forever
has been told to you
over and over
again,
somehow, you do not make it a problem
you like a closed door, and you hate it
when it opens,
you love it when it is closed forever,
the room is nice
there is a certain loveliness
in there,
it has shiny floors,
it has a bright ceiling,
the lights are lovely,
like stars
in an open dark sky
the air is fresh,
the walls are comfortable
who wants to take an exit?
no one.not you.
when the door knows this, it will open
forever,
it decides to open for you
and it will tell you to go out and be
an outsider again and
be gone
for good,
you insist that you own this room now,
that a closed door is not a serious matter
and there is no way that you have to
go out
or be ousted,
the door has a stair with strong hands
and it will drag you out
it will pull your hair and drag your body
like hell
the door has learned its lesson
when the room is not a prison to someone else
there is no use keeping him there forever
for in truth the reason of the door's
existence
is to make you feel the prison and to suffer
and you know your lesson too well
there is no prison to a mind that is an open window
there is no suffering
to a lover of suffering
you see, it takes a little reverse psychology
for closed doors to open
for men to know that suffering is not suffering
at all
when one loves is tripping
when one thinks
otherwise
when one loves whatever happens
when one accepts
the one that is there and not look for something
that is always missing
why go for the unreachable?
why suffer for long?
life is life, and death is death
you are here, grab this here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thoughts After Sex
after sex
people sleep
that is the
usual exit that
people who want
to escape seem
to know and do
they sleep
the routine keeps
going like
house, office,
office, house
roads, doors
doors, road
after sex
the usual exit
is closed
you look at the
ceiling trying to
open another
door
but there isn't
any.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cage....
one can see
an unaffected wire
cage on days when
the lovebirds
are set free
it has no wings
only squares and squares
of the usual
indifference
whether the door is open
or close
what does it matter to it?
an instrument will always be
the usual instrument
there is no imagination
no dream
not even the temporary bliss
of an illusion
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside My Study Room
five o'clock, the usual time
but i already woke up at 3: 45
too early really
but i could not go back to
sleep
the words arrive
riding on the boat
such wind
hovering
disembarking in my
brain
i am surrounded by
glass walls
and light brown
drapes
books scattering
like garbage
on the floors and
tables
i smell the odor of
dust and
water inside a vase
unchanged
the red rose
had long wilted
no one comes around
to fix things
and keep all of these
in their proper places
the windows are still
closed and it
is still dark outside
though the crows
have already
sounded their
sad calls
the cocks keep sounding
it is already morning
and the windows
must not be opened
i write some lines
as usual and then
i'll wear my socks
and put on my
rubber shoes
and then i will take
my walk to the
woods
it will be cold
and i can see my breath
like smoke from a pipe
but i need this
my body craves
my feet want to move
the walls are too much
and the curtains feel
like they have to be washed
i open the door
and then i meet a new
world again
i know at first it will
still be cold
that is usual
i know after this
the sun comes again
as usual
and things will warm themselves
again
on promises
like what hope is all about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Maybe Maybe She Remembers Me Again
i imagined her again
that early evening when she over drank her wine
she was bent at nothing
but simply to relax herself a bit
from a broken heart
she was tipsy, she walked towards that room
dimly lighted, she did not close the door
she undressed herself
walked naked and laid herself
on the carpeted floor
which i could see from where i was seated
trying to compose myself
in my own way of recovering from an old wound
she stood again went back to the door to close it
as i did not follow her
she did not smile
neither did she speak a word
but i understood
the following morning she dressed herself
put on her shoes
whistling her way out of the door then closed it
i went back to the usual pretense
i slept
till ten.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Adage 3
'A good meal ought to begin with hunger.'
French Proverb
one who is full
shall never be full
because he is
to be full
one must be empty again
to be a wall
one must start being a window
blink
and then open your eyes
and then close
each eye
slowly
this is the ritual of days and nights
shuttered existence
close
open
close
open
cl ose
open
fragile tiny hands of a new born baby
beside
the sleeping mother.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Door I Open To Close
The door I open to close behind me,
Would be less routine...
If I knew,
You'd be awaiting in a room...
To greet me like you use to do.
With a barrage of pent up sentiments.
The door I open to close behind me,
Welcomes me with a peaceful silence...
I did not always find,
When remembering those times...
I wondered where you were,
And that disturbed me.
Today,
When I open that same door to close...
After missing you,
And going through those adjustments we made...
I think of us not having enough trust,
And so willing to give up.
When all I wanted was just five minutes...
To myself.
And you could never understand why.
The door I open to close behind me,
Would be less routine...
If I knew,
You'd be awaiting in a room...
To greet me like you use to do.
Sometimes now I wish,
I had given you ten minutes.
Since that's all you wanted from me to listen.
I'm all ears now,
Wanting to hear your voice!
But you made a choice to leave.
And I can not blame you for choosing to.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What a mother should be
A mother is the one who loves you
A mother puts no drug above you
A mother will never make you cry
A mother will never make you want to die
A mother will help you fight your fears
A mother will help you stop your tears
A mother will keep you safe and sound
A mother will never let you down
A mother will daily say I love you
A mother won’t say I hate you
A mother won’t wish you were dead
A mother won’t forget what you said
A mother won’t close the door
A mother won’t let you be poor
Now I ask you, do you have a mother?
Cause’ I don’t, so don’t bother.
poem by Carlisa Smith
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The Song of Education
III. For the Creche
Form 8277059, Sub-Section K
I remember my mother, the day that we met,
A thing I shall never entirely forget;
And I toy with the fancy that, young as I am,
I should know her again if we met in a tram.
But mother is happy in turning a crank
That increases the balance in somebody's bank;
And I feel satisfaction that mother is free
From the sinister task of attending to me.
They have brightened our room, that is spacious and cool,
With diagrams used in the Idiot School,
And Books for the Blind that will teach us to see;
But mother is happy, for mother is free.
For mother is dancing up forty-eight floors,
For love of the Leeds International Stores,
And the flame of that faith might perhaps have grown cold,
With the care of a baby of seven weeks old.
For mother is happy in greasing a wheel
For somebody else, who is cornering Steel;
And though our one meeting was not very long,
She took the occasion to sing me this song:
"O, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come
When thy sleep will be broken with hooting and hum;
There are handles want turning and turning all day,
And knobs to be pressed in the usual way;
O, hush thee, my baby, take rest while I croon,
For Progress comes early, and Freedom too soon."
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Door
The door for in
The door for out
The same way right
Occupied life
The position points
Before the door
In or out
Sometimes entrance
Is to the exit
Before the eyes of mirror
Go with where ever
Same key
To close and open
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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First Flight
The young bird hops,
into my open garage.
Head hunched
it studies the veined floor
like a map; lost traveler
cast low from
wooded heights,
and lifts to its mother
a raspy cry.
Too early from the nest
fearful of the sky,
unsure of tender wings,
not able to fly,
it’s helpless.
I want to hold it,
feel its heart
tremble in my gentle hands
return it
to shredded nest,
or,
like a prayer,
cast it high to heaven
and watch it fly
or fall,
but I do nothing.
when echoing its mother’s call
the youngster stumbles out the door
and into the still street -
Breathless,
I watch mother bird
diving near
as the fledgling
rises
into familiar air.
poem by Steven Federle
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Door Between Two Worlds
this the door between our two worlds
it divides the inside and the outside
the light and the darkness
the choice is yours
there is no lock
there is only the hinge that holds the door to its place
when you open it
there is no sound
and when you close it
there is only this silence of the air sealed inside our minds
my heart does not sing inside
it is muted by the darkness that moment your gentle hands
close the door
it is patient, the mind
the incompatibilities of the things outside us
are too inviting
they tempt us to step outside and promise us
the magical wonders of freedom
we feel so light like our joys like cottons and clouds
they are no different from our wishes
i am in the middle of this door between us
& you look at me like i am the last man of this earth
your heart opens with eyes too careful not to know
what i do next is the suspense of this uncertainty
your eyes close, my heart bleeds
my hands wilt, your mind wanders like a lost wind
the door closes finally
walling us in
it locks upon itself and
the world sleeps soundly curling its feet on the beds of the
heavens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Strategies For Living Life
when he goes out into the world
there are no arms waiting
it is loneliness that walks with him
so he decided to stay and close the
doors and windows
thinking that in this way the world
will love him as others expect
the rope of loneliness chokes him
and so he prepares to go back into the open
he dresses well enough to face the wind
and dance with the shadows
they demand that he tells him his real name
and not wear a mask and sing the usual song
he refuses to cater to a brutality
he goes back to his room and reads a book
and closed the door again
and he grows up into a very strong silence
confident upon the soundless nook and
expects no one to call his name again
at the end he learns this game of
responsible loneliness
the one that does not speak when hurt
that does not smile even when seduced by joy
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dance
(j. spinks)
Growing up ain't easy
Especially when you?re young
And everyone you know is older than their years
And growing up ain't easy
When the only girl you want
Looks at you like you just disappeared
But you keep holding on
To every little thing that she's done
And if you?re chance came along
You'd make it clear
Hold me close close your eyes
Dance the night away
Growing up ain't easy
When time is on your side
And you?re wishing that these times would pass you by
Everytime a door is opened
There?s nothing on the other side
Just another door for you to try and find
But you keep holding on
And hoping that you're times gonna come
And she can do nothing wrong
You make it clear
Hold me close close your eyes
Dance the night away
But you keep holding on
To every little thing that she's done
And if you're chance came along
You'd make it clear
Hold me close close your eyes
Dance the night away
Hold me close close your eyes
Dance the night away
Dance the night away
Dance the night away
song performed by by Outfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy New Year 2011
Let it not be another new year
With the same usual celebrations
With the same usual great wishes
With the same usual demonstrations
Of happiness and gay
Instead of the New Year showering you joy
You shower it
With a vouch to
Keep yourself happy
Keep yourself healthy
Keep yourself enthusiastic
Keep yourself at peace
Keep yourself cheerful
Keep yourself loveable
Keep yourself simple and least complicated
Keep yourself non-complaining
Keep yourself ever in a ‘growth’ path
And
Keep yourself all that
Which will pave way
For a really lived-life
For years and decades ahead
With you at the centre
And the entire universe around you
Watching with wonder and
Cheering you
At each of your earnest effort
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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I Open The Door And Enter The Room
i open this door
and enter this room
i do not have to tell you
that i am always here
the moment i enter it
i close it
and then i have my own world
that you my love
has not entered
dare not
for this is my world
where i am happiest
it is surrounded with
mirrors
each wall contains
my face
there are no words
or other images
and the floors sing
even without lips
i am happy here
without you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Repost Of The Past Poem
i step out of the door
from my dark room the windows are not open
it is humid and cold
i step out of the door the windows are still closed
i lock the door and step upon a patch of green grass
the dews are hanging on the blades and shaken
i look upon the sky
and there is this star still shining
despite the opening of the mouth of the morning
i was in deep slumber
i close my eyes
i see your face but i promise there shall be no tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rizal
i agree
education is the key
when the door if
finally opened
in fact a long time ago
and
we already had
333 years in that
Spanish convent and
43 years of
that Hollywood experience
another door has been
closed
and still
the key has to open it
one door leads to
another
same key
the young keep on getting
that key
another door is close
more keys
each key has become
more expensive
and some have thrown
that key away
meanwhile the Authority
is asking
that doors outside the country
be opened
export labor
brain drain
that is another key
problem
on the other
hand
it is not the money
it is the open mind
resilient to
poverty
taking time still to laugh
at those hard times
i agree
despite the irrelevance
it is still
the rightful key
the door is open
and we are inside it
no one
no one can take this house
again
from us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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