Goodbye....
i must write you with a heavy heart
this heart of stone
blank, numb, gray, rough,
silent,
i write this at dusk,
there are yet no birds flying in the twilight skies
some boats are still there
but only shadows
i want to be completely stoned
to bleed, and be broken,
to be hurt by you once again
in this masochism
last night, you spread your legs, you hang yourself in bed
crucified in the ecstasy
of our love on concealed identities
no one sees us, no one knows us,
except
the angry God.
this morning, i see strangled bedsheets, off white,
empty glasses on the floor, stained carpets,
half open windows looking into the vast blue ocean
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Broken Glasses (2)
It's all broken glasses falling on the floor
Piece by piece breaking even more
One becoming two with each and every blow
A tree of glasses will never grow
Broken glasses on the floor
A million pieces becoming more
Each piece alone starts to shine
As though each one were becoming alive
A million pieces lie on the floor
Broken glasses broken to the core
They make me cry with their silence alone
As though they believe that all hope is gone
And the light that shines on the edge of a piece
Is like an un-witnessed tear of the pain unseen
As though when the pieces stop falling
All the glasses stop fighting
And chose to shine no more
Broken glasses falling on the floor
What can I say what have I more
Broken glasses I adore
Like a silent heart beat being ignored
Broken glasses are alive
Broken glasses are the life
Of a character broken deep inside
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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A Rosy Dream
This is for you,
Did pencils ever write
unwritten paper
empty blank
broken moment
unsaid poems and little words of fear
This morning of our affection
we spill our emotions
through the glass of wine
of ordinary hot words....
and walk through the shore of sand
sea shore is now empty....
a rosy garden
where roses fall silent
at the gaze of the moon,
where the night falls in a rosy faint, and snow
like a' ruby 'drops....
In the morning of our belief
in the faces of stars
like a kiss of words
we rely upon,
the streets remain empty
and our watches break again...
our skies sing
in a painful breeze
we miss our little song
Did paint ever portray
unspoilt canvas
empty hands
idle colours
rest
In the morning of singing song,
whistling
birds.....
poem by Thampi KEE
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A Song About You
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You’re all I can every think about
How you flood my dreams each night
How thinking of you takes my breath away
When I look up to the satellites
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
The long lost butterflies returned
How I hope my number you’ll dial
And how your memory smothers me with smiles
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You were the only one
Who had enough of me to break my heart
And when love took over my heart
You tore it all apart.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
I gave you my heart
Caught up in the thought
That we were off to a great start
But how you threw a damn dart
Right into the center of my heart
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
About how you crushed my heart
Not bothering to look back.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
poem by Jess Schwarcz
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My Heart... So Blue
Ive got her picture
Its there on the wall
I cant remember why
I keep it at all
The doors are cold and
All the windows seem grey
I write the book
Theres so much more I should say
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
And now its over
I write it all down
No one to notice
One less face in the crowd
Our eyes are open
When it suits us to say
Dear God in heaven
Show no mercy to me
Wave (wave) goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave (wave) goodbye
Lost for you
I shed no tears
And theres no reason for shame
A small consolation
Hides a stone with her name
Just a victim
Still the light shines all bright
Ive got her picture
Think Ill hold it tonight
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave (wave) goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave (wave) goodbye
Lost for you
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mornings Are Reborn
i do not like to think that
mornings are broken
like fragile white porcelain
like eggshells and glass figurines
and wine glasses
i like to see a morning reborn
dressed in light
on a pedestal of green grass
coming out
from the shadows of the tall mountains
touching the skies
regal, and fresh and cool,
i like myself to be just that
reborn
blank and still wanting to live
a life that is full
alive and like the arrival of
my morning
i like it be silent like
cat's feet
on the carpet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Faith
A wall
Gray and tall,
And a sky of gray,
And a twilight cold;
And that is all
That my eyes behold.
But I know that unseen,
Beyond the wall,
On a lawn of green
White blossoms fall
In the waning light;
And beyond the lawn
Curtains are drawn
From windows bright.
And within she moves with her gracious hands
And the heart that loves and that understands,
Waiting to succour poor souls in need,
And to bind with her blessing the hearts that bleed.
I know it all, though I cannot see;
But the tired-out tramp,
Dirty and ill,
In the evening's damp,
In the Spring's clean chill,
Knows not that there
Is the heart to care
For such as I and for such as he.
He slouches along, and sees alone
The gray of the sky and the gray of the stone.
Lord, when my eyes see nothing but grey
In all Thy world that is now so green,
I will bethink me of this spring day
And the house of welcome, known yet unseen;
The wall that conceals
And the faith that reveals.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Sea In Us
i am talking about
water, always there is a shortage
of what we have
in the mountain
the terrains are cracking
and the buds
and roots have always been thirsty
and strangled
we sit on the floor of this house
with big windows
looking at the vast expanse of hills
overlooking the
very wide sea
it seems that everything in our world
is sea, or
sea -ike, everything so deep
and blue
and so silent with all the
mysteries
something we still do not understand
and then you begin to talk about love
that we do not have much
something is lacking and something in us
speaks about
this hunger and thirst
this emptiness that all these resources
cannot fill
like the sea i am so silent
i am like an ocean not making any sense
of waves
like you
we shall also be like the sea
silenced by all these
mysteries
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fog Of My Broken Heart
The Fog Of My Broken Heart
The fog of my broken heart
The dark fog that imprisons my soul
and refuses to let me escape.
Its silent mist that eclipses the sun
beckoning the darkness.
Once again calling my name
Heavy clouds weighing me down
Depression, disappointment, and doubt
My newest companions.
The life I knew is now disoriented
My path is clouded
by anger, hurt, and uncertainty.
This fog is encircling me
Dragging me down
My vision is blocked
Tomorrow is a forever away
The blackness envelops me
Words of hope are but empty phrases
So I am abandoned and forever alone
Scabs long healed, split open again.
Left open and bleeding
For all to see
My heart exposed to the world
Becoming enveloped by the fog
The fog of my broken heart.
poem by Lissa White
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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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
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Inside The House Of Pain
a damaged brain inside a house of pain.
pieces of broken porcelain, all white and tiny.
under my feet. flying plates landing on walls.
smashed to the sound of bangs and cracks.
running mantels and falling glasses.
and viands splattering on the floors.
dirty carpets. stained curtains. broken windows.
loud words buzzing like giant bees in such a small
room. where everything is a crowd of cruel
words and slapping hands and pulling hairs.
mother wails and shouts for help.
father strikes her face. some blood bleeding
on unwashed handkerchiefs.
children running away. hiding in corners of
this world. all silent not needing any help because
they are all to afraid to become big like them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Liberty
On my school notebooks
On my desk and on the trees
On the sands of snow
I write your name
On the pages I have read
On all the white pages
Stone, blood, paper or ash
I write your name
On the images of gold
On the weapons of the warriors
On the crown of the king
I write your name
On the jungle and the desert
On the nest and on the brier
On the echo of my childhood
I write your name
On all my scarves of blue
On the moist sunlit swamps
On the living lake of moonlight
I write your name
On the fields, on the horizon
On the birds’ wings
And on the mill of shadows
I write your name
On each whiff of daybreak
On the sea, on the boats
On the demented mountaintop
I write your name
On the froth of the cloud
On the sweat of the storm
On the dense rain and the flat
I write your name
On the flickering figures
On the bells of colors
On the natural truth
I write your name
On the high paths
On the deployed routes
On the crowd-thronged square
I write your name
On the lamp which is lit
On the lamp which isn’t
On my reunited thoughts
I write your name
On a fruit cut in two
Of my mirror and my chamber
On my bed, an empty shell
I write your name
On my dog, greathearted and greedy
On his pricked-up ears
On his blundering paws
I write your name
On the latch of my door
On those familiar objects
On the torrents of a good fire
I write your name
On the harmony of the flesh
On the faces of my friends
On each outstretched hand
I write your name
On the window of surprises
On a pair of expectant lips
In a state far deeper than silence
I write your name
On my crumbled hiding-places
On my sunken lighthouses
On my walls and my ennui
I write your name
On abstraction without desire
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name
And for the want of a word
I renew my life
For I was born to know you
To name you
Liberty.
poem by Paul Eluard
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Seven-Sided Poem by C. Drummond translated by Souza
When I was born, a crooked angel,
the kind who live in shadows,
said: Go, Carlos! Be gauche in life.
The houses spy the men
chasing after women.
Perhaps if the afternoon were blue
there wouldn’t be so many desires.
The tram passes by full of legs:
white black yellow legs.
Why so many legs, God, my heart asks.
But my eyes
never ask a thing.
The man behind the mustache
is serious, simple, and strong.
Almost never talks.
Has a few, close friends,
that man behind the glasses and the mustache.
Lord, why did you abandon me
if you knew I wasn’t God?
if you knew I was weak.
World world vast globe
if my name were Job
it would be a rhyme, not a solution.
World world vast globe
vaster still is my heart.
I ought not tell you,
but this moon
but this cognac
gives us heartache like the devil.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fisher's Widow
The boats go out and the boats come in
Under the wintry sky;
And the rain and foam are white in the wind,
And the white gulls cry.
She sees the sea when the wind is wild
Swept by a windy rain;
And her heart's a-weary of sea and land
As the long days wane.
She sees the torn sails fly in the foam,
Broad on the sky-line gray;
And the boats go out and the boats come in,
But there's one away.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Upon Writing This Poem
you see, everyone is asleep
and the rain pours heavily on the tin roof of this old house
the white dog lays with its four legs facing the ceiling
feeling so contented
i closed the glass windows
and let the brown curtains fall
on the floor
as i begin to write the words i am not thinking of anybody else
is there someone still who is special to remember
during a heavy rain on a night like this when i am already alone by
myself?
i still have a suspended answer to all these questions
or perhaps they have no answers still
for the past 30 years
now with some white hairs and extended forehead
i am at home with myself
and no rain how heavy and how long
can instill in me the fear
of its monotonous sound
my feet have roots and my hands have tendrils
my head is a big sunflower
and the void out there is such a beautiful greenfield
on a limitless horizon
this world is an open window
this earth is a big boat
and i am now the sailor expectant of islands
and welcoming ports
bustling cities
diamond lights
starry skies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is Nothing To Write
WELL, FACE THE BLANK WALL
STARE TO THIS BLANK WALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO THIS BLANK WALL
IT IS BLANK
IT IS EMPTY
IT IS A HINDRANCE TO WHAT I WANT TO SEE
IT IS AN OBSTRUCTION
TO WHAT I WANT TO BECOME
THIS WALL
THIS WALL IS MY JAIL
MY PRISON
MY BLINDNESS
THIS WALL MUST BE TORN
THIS WALL MUST BE BOMBED
THIS BLOCK
THIS WEARINESS OF THE HEART
THIS TIREDNESS OF THE SOUL
THIS MALADY OF BEING NOTHING
THIS HAVING NOTHING AT ALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO WRITE
THERE IS NOTHING
THERE IS
now i will write about something
from above
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stone Garden
In this still
Winter chill
Upon this sharp
Dewy morn
Beyond the
Broken stone
Path
And the Red
Rose Thorn
Shadows are
Dancing
Still moonlight
'Neath an arched
Vine clad door
I have been
Lying here much
As a cold stone
Upon the winter
Floor
All of this time
Awaited
This path
You and i
Have traveled
Ivy vines have
Grown o'er
Tangled mangled
Raveled
At last though my
Thought empty
As dawns light
Revealed
My faint heart
Beat quickens
From all of the
Years
We've concealed
The cold stone
Has cracked open
For you alone
Planted the seeds
Love it springs
Forth my beloved
A floral Spring
Garden for thee
poem by Theodora Onken
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No Moon No Stars
the day when
a white blank screen
a white blank mind
and an empty heart
sit down to dine and
find the food tasteless
the day without its sun
the night its moon and stars
just strong winds howling over
and over on a vast plain
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Room In My Heart
My heart was once just like a home
With many rooms and open doors
And I always let love in
It would change the rooms around and then
Leave them empty
'Til one by one I locked each door
And soon forgot what love was for
But I never gave up hopin'
So I left just one door open
In case you found me
So there's a room in my heart for you
If your trust has been stolen too
If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor
And leave behind you the hurt you've had before
There's a room in my heart for you
We'll paint the walls from blue to white
And set the mood by candlelight
Together we'll keep out the cold
And I'll still be there when we're old
If you'll let me
So there's a room in my heart for you
If your trust has been stolen too
If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor
And leave behind you the hurt you've had before
There's a room in my heart for you
song performed by by Faith Hill from It Matters To Me
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ecstacy In An Orgasmic Poem
a poem too can be male and female
the way we want it
i write it upon your urging
you say you are lonely and you have no one
to trust or to speak or to sleep with
you are vacant and blank and empty
you are crying all alone and you wipe your tears
in the silence of the four corners of your room
you open up a need. and i am there to fill it up.
i am silent too. and i know when to stand and when to sit
upon your gentle command.
you ask for a poem about love. i write it.
you want something harder. you want me to dance the
dance of lust. i comply.
i write a poem about an orgasm of words.
an ecstasy buried on some free verses.
i bow down to your urges. you too bow down before me.
as i uncover what wraps me, what encloses me.
we open up like flowers shedding off leaves.
we face the reality that we are big enough to understand
the power of ejaculation and the receptacles of orgasm.
we look at each other eye to eye only to close our eyes again.
then our mouths fuse. everything fuse. Interlocking.
and then it rains. we take shelter in each other's arms.
we live again. we throw away all the sighs. we have become one.
the gods find us and they are filled with what they once felt too.
there are no words possible.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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