for Loleng
i am afraid i have been too literal
for the main reason that i want you to understand easily
what i mean
to lighten what heavy load
you have there
i am sleepy and you expect more of those
metaphors
they have all left this place
that many have misunderstood
now Loleng
each word has its own moving meaning
a dung for a cow
something that is wet for rain
each word has its own limited reality
which you must enclose and
capture
a niche for instance
and a flower
and white curtain all for a wall
but it will not be for long Loleng
when leaving is too painful when things cannot be prevented
from happening
like birth for a start then sometimes death in the middle
instead of marriage
what words will i use Loleng to comfort you?
what metaphors can i think of
to appease you
or trick you into an exit?
perhaps only silence, only silence
perhaps even nothing at all
to comfort you because
the dark nights are getting long
storms more turbulent
and many people as indifferent as
the blank stares that you
see when they shrug their shoulders
when you ran for
them for help
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Tenderly you come
tenderly you come
to touch the locks of hair
that rest there on the pillow
feathered in a dream
i sleep my silence long
two words for its spell
and no silence for a word
you touch my face and line it
up in warmth through glass
that stands there instead of window
sundialed roomed so spacious
i sleep my silence long
two words for its spell
and no silence for a word
you open eyes of a closure
'neath unfaithful sky
to write me there word cloudward
wipe me away or melt
in my sleep silence long
two words for its spell
and no silence for a word
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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In Loosing Control
Your translucent metaphors
Make my blue words to become
Seeds of a mirrored thinking.
My words need your metaphors to scream,
While emerging from their painful cage.
They need to be washed
Again and again
In the Light downpour.
My words need to be loved, sweetheart,
Their mad escape happens
Sometimes, in haste.
You can make them to get out
By being so well
Mixed with hate and pain.
My words may bite your lips
In a love kiss, baby.
My words need the blood of your love.
Moreover,
They need to breathe your love
In loosing control.
Your words are leaves,
Sometimes,
Being carried off their knowledge to spread
Inside of me
For changing something-
Your very red, orange and yellow words,
Preceding the white silence of our winter.
Your words, my love,
Can become icy cubs slipping into my hot mouth
To kill my silence.
In-between dark and light,
In our secret dawns,
You make me miss their sweet touch
Inside of me
In making them to be
Love.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Deterioration Of The Word Hello
the indifferent man on the other side
of the cyber line
perhaps has misunderstood my
hello
as a mode of great concern
thinking that i must be a man without means
with ignoble intentions
for his silence
hmmm, hellos are cliches
sometimes you say it
just to check if people are still there
more of
hey i am not alone in this silence
there are too many of us
to be ignored
by that usual indifference
that feeling that everybody is gone
deep to the caves of
death
and that this world is numb
and foolish
hello if he knows somehow
is of the lesser kind
inferior to
good morning i am here
bastardized abused
word that for a time
exists on a faded meaning
in fact
demoted deteriorated to
no meaning at all
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Valediction....
it was never me
there is never a part of me that was there
you have misinterpreted the truth about those characters of the novel,
the words in that poem
the metaphors are outdated
refer to another reality,
the reality that i have carried upon my shoulders
i am the horse, not that horseman,
i am not the star, i am just the asteroid at the background
i am the silence between your sighs,
do not read my silence,
you will find a word that cannot stand for me,
i am not even that tail of that great meteor that comes to your life
once in a century
it is not me that you see in those flowing words,
they are those pieces of undecided driftwood that i pick from the great flood
those dry falling leaves that land on my forehead
from the great tree of life
do you really have to find pieces of myself in those lines to make
the write-up interesting to you?
i am so sorry
call me a liar, but that is the truth
there is truth in empathy
there is truth in putting our feet in some other people's shoes
that is what literature is all about
read some more and be discouraged
fathom and then
be enlightened about the sufferings of others
their miseries that soon shall provide you company
when you sit upon a chair with a smoke in your left hand
and a margarita (or black coffee) on your right
upon an empty table
facing the sea
witnessing the beautiful fading
on another sunset
in your life
do not wish that i shall be there
oh, i have long been gone into another island
do not attempt to find me
i am not there anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Comfort Of The Rain
You had your finest hour before you
Long after I thought I had mine
Only in need of the right circumstances
Wat if the sunlight that has failed you starts to shine
If the sky is dark with clouds tonight
Don't bother don't complain
Bringing down the comfort of the rain
This morning I came across your window
The lights were all on
and the curtains drawn
Casting a burden from yor shoulders
Wearing yor winter coat and waking up before the dawn
And if at last the silence falls tonight
And empty streets remain
For once enjoy the comfort in the rain
song performed by by Shoot High Aim Low from Shalplatte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moderns
To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Let's Leave The 'Poems' Without Metaphors
LET’S LEAVE THE ‘POEMS’ WITHOUT METAPHORS
Let’s leave the ‘poems’ without metaphors
Bare and stark and original
Quiet and sleeping and still
The soothing poems the calming poems
The poems that even in the middle of the night
Let us sleep.
Let’s leave the poems without metaphors
And go back to the simple words
And let them say all they can by themselves
Until they become metaphors too.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Catastrophe Within Silence
silence as in a room with no sound
but the hard pounding drops of rain against the window
silence as in being in a crowd of people
but no one is paying any attention to you
silence as in the pain that harvests inside
but not a soul is around to help u through it
silence yet another meaning of no commotion
but leaves many oblivious to anything of mention
there is catastrophe within silence
but who are those to even realize it?
not a word against a crowd
or a cry for help
not a simple acknowledgment
or an act speaking an opinion
silence
silence may be the
fear
shock
or agitation
within our world that leaves everyone
speechless
till all that is left is
catastrophe within silence
poem by Erin Sullivan
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Your Patience and Understanding
for you to satiate me
i only need the silence
speaking destroys the
taste of desire
i do not need words
i do not need to know
we are here to feel and
perhaps for you to sacrifice your being
i do not invade into your domain
not even in the kingdom of your stare
i am here only to be here
i do not speak a word neither do i entertain a thought
you are here as a blooming flower
i am autumn.
we belong to different worlds
our situations clash
there is no need to fight
what is needed is just being beside you
the night has been unusually cold
and i am a very heavy and dark cloud
my being does not rapture
it wakes up from deep sleep without a capture
you shall never understand
how twisted has love become.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Without You
It has been
six days
since I have seen her.
In all that time
she left me
totally totally alone.
Not a word
not a call
not a touch
not a sight of her.
How does she go
and leave me so
easily like this?
How is it that she
does not need to see
me by tormented day?
How is it that she
does not need to sleep
beside me during
long lonely nights?
Her naked body
under the sheets
cannot hold me
at a distance.
Her skin
cannot feel
the healing massage
of my caring hand.
Nor can
an empty bed
hold reassuring comfort
of her touch.
Nights
I lay awake
at nights
without you.
Nights
are lonely
and long
without you.
Life
is an empty night
alone wasted
without you.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Today I Say Thank You For The Silence
thank you for the silence
when you tap my shoulder without saying a word
that was all that i need
thank you for the smile
without uttering any word that smile has spoken more than
what i need for the day
when i finally hit the rocks at the bottom
thank you for the company
it was more than the flowers and the money and the food
even for that short moment
way beyond my longer days of sorrow
you have given me comfort
now, in my solitude, i need more of the silence
thank you, you also know how to leave me
always at the right time
when silence becomes so precious
when we call it
golden
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem Is A Vent
now you must
learn what poetry is
alright, you must
agree that it gives
sometimes a sense
of pleasure
where emotions begin
to play in the dark
in the park
it becomes the hallmark
of your freedom
you must have noticed
how the words chosen
are tilted in your favor
because now you are
the master of this
game of truth
and purity
you must know by now
that poetry somehow
is a escape
there are exits in
its structure where
you design your
freedom
your tunnel from that
prison wall of
closed structures
without windows without
light
this is the sense of
selfishness away
from the crowd
away from those
that humiliate you
from those that
knows nothing of you
except your madness
your introversion into the
silent (yet colorful world)
of metaphors
the frogs there sing
the rain does not stop
falling
the rainbows come
bridging that gap
between your
illusion and your
reality
you must know
by now
what all these means
in the most simple term
this is your
kit for survival
a box of words
the most private room
of your
sexy metaphors
your women and your
dreams
your treasures and
your island
your house without
a roof
because all night long
you always want
to see the stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Unfriendly Woman Next House
i met a woman
at the cottage by the beach
with a daughter
who by her acts love being
unfriendly
i must have misunderstood her
right to privacy
i understand it now
for like me she must have been nurturing
a wound
rubbing it with the balm of grief's silence
leaving it to the cares of time
believing that no word from another can heal it
no concern can cure it
that what hurts should better be left to the care
of themselves
automatically healing without
anyone's unnecessary intervention
when we meet i look the other way
as a sign of respect for her chosen indifference
perhaps it works for her
so many times over and over again
perhaps that is the same reason
why she is in this place
isolated but never ostracized
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silence and Echo
solitude
like silence
falls off on the ground
undisturbed waters
transparent
this silence of word
silence of air
this silence
solitude
nobody's longing
breaks against a bricked wall
high
wall like concrete
thick
and heavy
this perfect peace
at times
larynx scream
will wake up the silence
disturb
this constant reverie
sorrow
wants to leave
or silence
wants to play
with the echo
longer
(transl. Annaya Chomczyk)
poem by Dorota Szumilas
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You can stay in perfect bliss, if you so choose
It is all fine here
I do not see anything
Nor do I hear anything
No hunger
No sleep
Ever wakeful
All of us here
Do not wish or long for anything
Things are fine around
And we are in great comfort
The dull light available
Is good enough to make out
What is happening
How come everything,
Everything means everything
Including me and mines, near or far
Has become totally insignifcant
We have nothing to worry about
We have nothing to plan or act
We just keep moving here and there
In the thin air
Only thing we do to each other is to smile at each other
Regardless of the other taking note of it or not
Once a while we understand
That someone has left
For taking shape
And once again that someone
Will hear, see, cry and laugh
Travel to this world was smooth
Staying here is wonderful
I do not know how long will I be here
As I will also go to a shape anytime
Is what my understanding says
All of you will one day or the other come here
And that time you will recall
What all I said above
I will not invite you here
As you feel you are safe there
I will not say you will also be in comfort
As many of us feel
All depends on how much
Attached are you with things around you
The more attached there
The more difficulties here
But, note, your coming here
Is definite and inevitable
But no one knows
When, how and why
Nevertheless, do not be afraid of this world
It is wonderful, painless
You can stay in perfect bliss
If you so choose
From a just departed soul
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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White Space
I was dreaming of a white space
Had interposed itself between us two-
A blank wall; neither dark nor light
No recrimination there but silence
The silence that falls only at night.
Silence gone to snowy hazards
Like the shadows made from deeper blue-
And invisible but slippery edges,
As blindly groping in the darkness
To reach the haven- but you're not there yet.
Though I would wall myself with silence
And spend my life as one, not two-
Before I'd hurt another being,
Sometimes intentions brick the dam up
Before the devastation's seen.
poem by Patti Masterman
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If The Poems Keep Flowing
IF THE POEMS KEEP FLOWING
If the poems keep flowing
And the metaphors ripen on the trees
And the dreams say words even they do not understand
And all life in sound becomes a magical prescence of music
If all good things come in this process of writing
And my silence is forever stricken from the record of Time
Then why and how and where and must will I become again
Carry me along taddy like you done at the toy fair?
So after all the years of reading
Lost too in the flow of the words of others
Unable to hear myself without hearing them
Because all other poets are the poet I am and would be
And all I take in me slowly memorizing line by line phrase by phrase word by word
Is a kind of blessing
Which even this hushed hearing now cannot really explain
Or take away on the river of lost light forever
Shabbat Shalom.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Found My Niche
i found my niche
and it is the place of my brothers whose tongues
are as forked as mine
whose words are as sharp as mine and we understand
how to say them
and we say them as we understand them
from the roots
to the stem of our awakenings
some bottles of wine will do
in this little niche
this country of my people
where i am one
of those counted to make a stand
and speak
there will be singing and touching of hearts
through the poems that we compose
and read with each other
there will be this sense of ourselves
back to our own arms
this sense of home
where each of us
are so alive.
we keep the poems in our own language now.
and if you wish, you must learn what each word means.
come, come, you are invited.
leave your slippers
before you enter. There is this burning bush in the middle
of our presence.
it is burning. it is burning.
we are in the midst of this worshipping.
come, come, come, stranger.
there is no reason for fear here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Implies Not Looking Back
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
So many have been comforted,
By schedules made and keeping set dates.
With a scratching off from a menu decided,
To replace or hesitate to eventually procrastinate.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
Even Mother Nature comes to assist with this movement.
With a shifting of Earth and turbulent winds.
Spinning storms called hurricanes,
From the shores of Africa that begin...
In vast waters referred to as the Atlantic Ocean.
And still there are those demanding entitlements,
With preferences prayed in a daily devotion.
As if they have rights to insist a life liked to live.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
But...
Unfortunate are those who believe,
A moving back in time...
Is a choice to make as to who will lead,
Them away from truth...
To produce more delusions and fantasies!
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
And leaving behind many detached,
Who will never become attached to reality.
Moving forward is the change everyone will believe in,
Whether to embrace, accept or not.
We live to experience, grow to then distance,
From aged beliefs to advance to other adventures.
With a wisdom kept to keep to be reminisced but not lived,
Repeatedly to comfort our insecurities.
'I hate change.'
Me too.
I wish I had more dollars.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Everybodys Crying Mercy
I cant believe the things Ive seen
I wonder bout some things Ive heard
Everybodys crying mercy
When they dont know the meaning of the word
A bad enough situation
Is sure enough getting worse
Everybodys crying justice
Just as long as theres business first
Toe to toe
Touch and go
Give a cheer
Get your souvenier
People running round in circles
Dont know what theyre headed for
Everybodys crying peace on earth
Just as soon as we win this war
Straight ahead
Knock em dead
Pack your kid
Choose your hypocrite
Well you dont have to go to off broadway
To see something played absurd
Everybodys crying mercy
When they dont know the meaning of the word
Nobody knows the meaning of the word
When they dont know the meaning of the word
Nobody knows the meaning of the word
Nobody knows the meaning of the word
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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