Her Hands Are Stronger Now
she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.
She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.
How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?
Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.
Life is over.
Game is over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
In my house
You enter a room to see a park
You close a door only to be led to another stairway
Leading you to another room with nothing but windows
You close a window the rest remains open
You close the windows and another door
In that park in the room where you just entered
Opens
Then you are confused about the roof that opens
To a river to the rocks where another door opens
To a wall with trees and birds and butterflies
This is weird you say, this is really weird
Then from the garage comes a wind that blows
Its horn like a car
I have just arrived offering you an explanation
For all these mess, these uncertainties, these self-made
confusions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Want To Be Free
(words & music by jerry leiber - mike stoller)
Theres no joy in my heart,
Only sorrow
And Im sad
As a man can be
I sit alone in the darkness
Of my lonely room
And this room
Is a prison to me
I look at window
And what to I see
I see a bird
Way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
What good are my eyes,
They cant see you
And my arms,
They cant hold so tight
I have two lips
That are yearning,
But theyre no good to me
Cause I know I cant kiss you tonight
I look at window
And what to I see
I see a bird
Way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
I want to be free
Like the bird in the tree
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Room
(chris waters/tom shapiro)
When I pull in the drive where your car used to be
It doesnt hurt me like it used to
I can walk through the door, and not wonder anymore
Where you are, like I used to
I can go down the hall, see the pictures on the wall
And not miss you
But I just cant bring myself to go into..
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Id remember too much if I opened that door
And Im not sure if I could face it
The beds emptiness would remind me youre with
Someone else, and I couldnt take it
So, I sleep on the couch in our living room now
Since our love died
cause Im still not ready yet to go inside...
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Where the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want To Be Free (Take 11)
There's no joy in my heart,
only sorrow
And I'm sad
as a man can be
I sit alone in the darkness
of my lonely room
And this room
is a prison to me
I look at window
and what to I see
I see a bird
way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
like the bird in the tree
What good are my eyes,
they can't see you
And my arms,
they can't hold so tight
I have two lips
that are yearning,
but they're no good to me
Cause I know I can't kiss you tonight
I look at window
and what to I see
I see a bird
way up in the tree
I want to be free free
Free - ee - ee - ee
I want to be free
like the bird in the tree
I want to be free
like the bird in the tree
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Thought I Cannot Write A Love Poem Anymore
i am 48 years old, and i have loved and lost
so many times,
the pains that do not hurt anymore
come like trickles of rain not ripping any skin with
cold,
those that ripple sadness do not make any sound,
love,
does not intimidate me anymore,
neither does it make me quiver,
or long
for more,
i am 48 years old and had taken lust as creamer
to my bitter and black coffee,
stares at the window and never cares who gets
in and gets out of my door,
this room is empty
and these blankets are washed
as often as they get dirty, twice a week or thrice
and this floor gives the sounds of stilleto shoes
and hushes and moans, and there was no love
requiring a better sofa to lay my head upon,
or some romantic roses as accent on the blue
glass vase,
i am 48 years old, and still in love with you,
can do nothing about it babe,
memories bring more memories
like a stack of fantasies, and so here i am back to square one
writing you a love poem like tendrils of a vine
looking for the best tree to climb upon
until i reach that place where i can see you
sleeping in your room.
and i will be there for long
glancing
i do not wish that you love me too.
This poem serves the purpose.
It is just a matter of remembering.
How can i ever forget
You.Yes, it is still you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'll Wait When You Finally Say, You Don't Love Me Anymore
i will not be dumb but i will be very patient
i know how to figure out
to decipher glances and appearances
the way your finger moves when you hand me
my clothes the way you find disgust in my underwear
but i will not waste any of the words i have saved
for the years i will keep them locked with key
your dreams are no longer my dreams
somehow we no longer look in the same direction
as we used to
gazing in the stars at night and giving them names
when we say
i love you and i love you too
some stars fell and you tell me they are but meteorites
ordinary occurences, and they do not mean any wishes
i can tell the changes in the skies
i can tell the coming of the storm and i am always prepared for them
there will be no surprises
when you will call me by my name and you say you want
a heart to heart talk
something to shake me but i will listen attentively
you will have no questions
just mere declarations about the river that dried
about the fish that died and you counted them all
there are no stars to light this darkness
this room where the air is free to go from window to window
i will wait when you will finally say
what i already know and i will be patient
then you must go and then i must as a solemn duty
close this door and never shall i open it again
i will not watch you go and dissolve in a distance
i will not cry, i am saving my tears for the right occasion
the tears of joy and this happiness that finally
in my solitude i still love myself
(you will never know, how i have waited for this moment)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Closed Door
on that day i lost the key
to the room
i waited for some solutions
breaking the locks
and open the door
or climbing on the other side
and entering through the window
but my arms for intrusion
are weaker now
my hands tremble at the thought
that once in my childhood
i did climb walls and break open
the window
and was so badly beaten
i keep on waiting for some solutions
until i realized that anyway
this is not my room and there is nothing
in there and so
not being that foolish
i simply walked away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Writer's Room
A desk by a window
A quiet room with a few antiques
Two book shelves and the internet
I visit so many poets and writers
Dawn shines on wood floors
Trees in the yard always inspire
They’re so real and unpretentious
They teach us beauty is being ourselves
The sun rises, latter the moon
Silence and ticking clocks
Pictures and photos that mean something
Sometimes I put on some music
Some can write anywhere
I seem to gather inspiration
A hot cup coffee and I am ready to go
I like this room for writing
My muse seems to like this old house
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Another Night with Miss Pinkie
Miss Pinkie (she dropped
the title Mrs from
her name ages ago)
lay on the sofa
and said
take me if you want
spank me if you will
and he stood
looking at her
a glass of scotch
in his hand
the music of Mahler's
symphony number 4
coming through the door
from an outer room
she lay butt naked
her amble flesh
spread out
her hands resting
on her breasts
who's the orchestra
on the Mahler piece?
he asked
can't remember
she said shifting slightly
her blue eyes searching him
aren't you going to oblige?
she said
he drank back
the scotch
and put the glass down
on the small coffee table
can I sit first?
sure
she said and sat up
and moved over
to allow him room
beside her
he gazed at her
at her dyed blonde hair
at her eyes deep
like oceans of blueness
knowing she had
19 years upward on him
and all she wanted
was a few hours
of talk and laughter
and a leisurely screw
one of the old guys
died at the home today
he said
out of the blue
oh which one?
she asked
the one who sat
in his room each day
and looked out
the window
and said next to nothing
oh him
she said
think he was
broken hearted
she added
he took in
the beauty spot
on her cheek
like Marilyn used
to have years ago
so how about it?
she asked
are you ready for it?
the Mahler piece softened
some moving movement
well?
she said placing
a hand on his thigh
maybe you could put
on Brahms for a change
he said
sensing her hands
move upwards
maybe
she said softly
if you're a good boy
the lights were low
the lights from the street
added a different shade
of glow
ok
he said
and her hands moved
and did their work
and so did his
bit by bit
time over time
the music playing on
in the background
that and flesh slapping
and the sofa squeaking
was the symphony
of a sexual sound.
poem by Terry Collett
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Whos That Man
(toby keith)
Turn left at the old hotel
I know this boulevard much too well
It hasnt changed since I been gone
Oh, this used to be my way home
They paved the road thru the neighborhood
I guess the county finally fixed good
It was gettin rough
Someone finally complained eneogh
Fight the tears back with a smile
Stop and look for a little while
Oh its plain to see
The only thing missing is me
Thats my house & thats my car
Thats my dog in my back yard
Theres the window to the room
Where she lays her pretty head
I planted that tree out by the fence
Not long after we moved in
Thats my kids and thats my wife
Whose that man, runnin my life
If I pulled in would it cause a seen
There not really expectin me
Those kids have been thru hell
I hear they adjusted well
Turn around in the neigbors drive
Id be hard to recognise
In this pick-up truck
Its just an old fixer up
Drive away one more time
Lot of things going thru my mind
I guess the less things change
The more they never seem the same
Thats my house & thats my car
Thats my dog in my back yard
Theres the window to the room
Where she lays her pretty head
I planted that tree out by the fence
Not long after we moved in
Thats my kids and thats my wife
Whose that man, runnin my life
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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BREAKING THE DOOR OPEN (revised)
on that day when i lost the key
to the room
i waited for some solutions
perhaps i shall break the lock
or smash the door or remove the door jams
or climb on the other side of the house
and enter through the window
but my arms for breaking
are weaker now
my hands tremble at the thought
that once in my childhood
i did climb a wall and break open
the window
and was so badly beaten
that i could hardly stand and walk
back home
i keep on waiting for some solutions
until i realized that anyway
this is not my room of destiny
and there is nothing
in there that is worth my trouble
and so
not being that foolish enough
(or hopeless to say the least)
i simply walked away
with nothing on my shoulder to carry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Candle
By my bed, on a little round table
The Grandmother placed a candle.
She gave me three kisses telling me they were three
dreams
And tucked me in just where I loved being tucked.
Then she went out of the room and the door was shut.
I lay still, waiting for my three dreams to talk;
But they were silent.
Suddenly I remember giving her three kisses back.
Perhaps, by mistake, I had given my three little
dreams
I sat up in bed.
The room grew big, oh, bigger far than a church.
The wardrobe, quite by itself, as big as a house.
And the jug on the washstand smiled at me:
It was not a friendly smile.
I looked at the basket-chair where my clothes lay
folded:
The chair gave a creak as though it were listening
for something.
Perhaps it was coming alive and going to dress in
my clothes.
But the awful thing was the window:
I could not think what was outside.
No tree to be seen, I was sure,
No nice little plant or friendly pebbly path.
Why did she pull the blind down every night?
It was better to know.
I crunched my teeth and crept out of bed,
I peeped through a slit of the blind.
There was nothing at all to be seen.
But hundreds of friendly candles all over the sky
In remembrance of frightened children.
I went back to bed...
The three dreams started singing a little song.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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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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A Window Of Opportunity
In every life occasionally
a window opens before us,
a window of opportunity.
It may not be a window to money,
but a window to more friends.
When we pass through it could lead us
to friends in many lands.
So the next time a window opens
just walk on through
you’ll never know
what lies beyond it there.
It could open
to the greatest treasure there,
love and friendship
just for you.
poem by David Harris
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Storeroom
I love you, without caring whom you love.
My hands below the belt, or my hands above
in the arms of other men,
or in my bed again.
It's just a man,
Taking what he needs,
From the store room,
Store room, store room.
I love to see you sitting there upon your throne,
your preachers all around you
being bored, and your prophet straight and tall.
And yet they'll undermine it all.
Just a man, just a man,
taking what he needs,
from the store room,
store room, store room.
Yeah, Shakespeare said it all, then he said no more
and he left me feeling just like a two bit whore.
Well the silence broke my heart, but yes
I spread my legs apart.
It's just a man ...
?????
?????
The hermit in the Wild,
the parent in the child.
Just a man ...
Oh my love, let us unpin you,
???? you done, bringing more:
the mother and the father, the daughter and the son.
But should one refuse to come, it does not subtract the sum
It's just a man ...
It's not a (due?) of burning pounds that ruins your mind
like a spoon that you turn and you turn and you don't unwind,
Though these wars that you did not stop,
they don't tear your sleep apart.
It's just a man ...
???? that keeps you up,
What a (moon?) coming like a headlight through the window
Not the thumbnail of a screen, (?)
No best way to dream (?)
It's just a man ...
Now the woman by your side is she awake?
But there's nothing you want to give her,
and there's nothing that you really want to take.
You don't even try to prove that the noisy neighbor's making love. (?)
It's just a man ...
I love you without caring whom you love ...
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5 Minutes In Your Room
It was only 5 minutes in your room,
Then, it left the room;
For, this bird came through your window!
Only for 5 minutes,
Bar, car, tar, far, ear, jar, mar, oar, par, star, war! !
But, it exhibited marvellous moves in your room;
Then, it finally flew out of your room.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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No place for a courting-candle
A girl’s voice laughing softly
cuts through the night
and enters by the room’s window
and wide awake
I (six year old child) sneak out
to find the source of the excitement.
Gardiël studies with Martin
that boards with us
and both are matriculating
because he complains
that his eyes burn
from the old paraffin lamp
that gives light
at their farm house
where there’s no electricity.
A bright electric lamp
burns in the room
hanging ten centimetres
beneath the ceiling
and big moths
fly dark brown around it
caught in flight paths.
Another table lamp
throws a bright yellow glow
that brings heat in the chilly
highveld winter.
I see them through the window
drinking coffee and eating rusks,
before both of them
again turn pages in books
and crawl into the shelter of a bush
to stay hidden from them
and suddenly somebody moves
next to me
and I see her bend
to pickup small stones
that she throws lightly
against the room’s window.
The window opens wide
and I hear them talking softly
without hearing what they say
and the girl again laughs
before she walks to the front door
that opens noiselessly.
l’Envoi
It must have been only ten minutes
before uncle Hendrik (Gardiël’s dad)
comes running along,
open the garden gate with might
almost run the front door
out of its sockets
and with a walking stick in his hand
(that is stronger than a broom)
smashes out the light in the roof,
the table lamp
and the window
in Martin’s room
and I hear lashes
with thudding sounds
fall on both boys
and the girl
screaming hysterically
while she
also get lashed
and he shouts in anger
that this is no place
for a courting-candle.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Haven't Changed The Room
Music & Lyrics by Barry Manilow
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here is the room that we shared
The room that you cared for
So I haven't changed the room
How did the years slip away
I could swear you're still there
For I haven't changed the room
Now that you're gone
What am I to do
So many fantasies
Plans that we made
That will never come true
And I haven't changed all that much
And I'm sure you'd be proud of
The way that I came through
So if you happen to be passin' by
To make sure that you recognize it
I haven't changed the room
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The World Out There....
i look at the room
where we once shared
happiness,
it is the same room
now
that shall make us live
the
season of
sadness,
nothing's changed
nothing will be changed here
white walls,
white tiled floors
same fluorescent tube
same switch
on the frame
of the door
the cabinets are still brown
though not glossy
with age
how many years?
20 years
swift as the flight of
seagulls
white winged birds on
sky blue seas
the matrimonial
bed is losing
its soft cushion
our backs endured all these
roughness now
when we make no more
demands
for life to give us
more
ah, how many years more?
i do not need much
5 can be a surplus
what do i need
of 10 years more?
i am a simple man
willing to explore
what lies in the unknown
this present
is all revealed and i
am satisfied,
there is more out there
the stars are not
telling
the moon is still secretive
to the
bounty of calm
and beauty
i shall be there
in due time
without you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Room Service
Im feelin low, no place to go
And Im a-thinking that Im gonna scream
Because a hotel all alone is not a
Rock and roll stars dream
But just when Im about to shut the light and go to bed
A lady calls and asks if Im too tired or if Im just to dead for
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no
My planes delayed and Im afraid
Theyre gonna keep me waiting here till nine
Then a stewardess in a tight blue dress says
I got the time
But just as Im about to take my coat and get my fly
She says oh please, shes on her knees
And one more time before I leave I get some
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no, no
In my home town, Im hangin round
With all the ladies treatin me real good
A sweet sixteen lookin hot and mean says
I wish you would
But just as Im about to tell her yes, I think I can
I see her dad, hes getting mad
All the time he knows that Im in need of
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no, I cant say no
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, you take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no
Room service, well maybe baby, room service
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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