Hi... Bye...
hi
one syllable,
two letters, it makes the difference
of being here and
you being there,
hi
and i say hi too to you
crisp, too short, reserved,
as we both wonder what next to say
what is the possibility of
another letter, or word, or perhaps
an incomplete sentence will do the trick
of what that rest must follow...
hi.... and i fall short of meaning and i write...
bye.
three letters
one syllable, sad and
indifferent
it could have asked for some more
but you know
it cannot.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
An Autumn Letter
I want to write a letter to someone in the autumn
In the Autumn, I see lonely fountain streamed from a deep valley
And want to wet the lonely heart
I write a letter in the autumn night but knowing that cannot be sent in the morning
Now there is a postman who delivers letters in the air in the days and nights
So I am sending letters
I regret but the unsent letters always cry
I send the thread tied letters in the air without stamps
The letters of the poet opens its eyes with holding their breaths
poem by Kyungdae Min
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Waiting For The Time That I Have No More To Say
i am simply waiting
for the time when i have nothing anymore
to say and
then i will just sit there
in the corner looking at the sun
that will no longer rise or set,
not
really static,
it simply passes,
as though nothing happens.
and
when i have nothing more to say
it simply means,
goodbye,
i have freed myself
at last,
from the bondage
of speech from
the opression
of words,
from the anxiety
of the syllable,
from the demands
of certain
letters to finally form
a word,
from the
mandate of a blank slate
searching for
its own meaning
in whatever i speak.
and write
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Advice
try making it short,
as a syllable, crisp
like popcorn
make it quick,
like a nibble
because
they don't have
the luxury of time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writting
When i feel lost lonely and have nowhere to go,
the words keep me company and im a loner no more,
Letters come together in my minds free flowing from my
heart,
Two letters one letter many letters make up words,
Long words short word
bring up sentences that form up,
my concious wades throught them picking seeking to join
short and long and make it work,
No rules to my word play anything u want can stay a
concortion a work of art,
Am lost in emotions,
lost in expressions,
pronouns adjectives and nouns,
Lay them straight,
hang them down they still are need a flow to make a sweet
sound,
The rhyme,
the time is put into consideration when iplay with all my words,
My best friend is my pen, my paper and my head there is no limit to what i can,
Its a poem am at it a work of art in progress i love the work
of my hands...
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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The Wicked Postman
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Oh, Poet
Every word
Is a miracle
Every yarn
A syllable.
Oh,
So,
A poet
Is born
Out
Of letters.
For,
If poetry
Is
What poets
Do
Then poets
Are created
By poems.
poem by Paul Hartal
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A Word
If I make a word
it is first sculpted from letters
on the page
a canvass across which
letters skate
from margin to margin transforming
into meanings and sentences
which give us art, science, poetry
and civilization.
This is created from an arbitrary entity,
the scratchings we call letters
which in turn form yet another
mysterious entity we call the alphabet.
What manner of miracle is this?
All of civilization is born from
these scribbly scratchings?
So if each letter is an imaginary entity,
an arbitrary symbol we made up
which has no meaning by itself
and lives inside another arbitrary entity
we call the alphabet
we may properly ask
what is going on here?
Meaning here is deriving from an arbitrary nothingness
arbitrarily created from arbitrary letters
by virtue of common agreement around
what words will mean?
Ponder this:
we too, as individuals are letter unique
and, in our variety, form a kind of human alphabet.
What we all mean and can mean to each other
therefore depends upon the words we form
in our families and communities; our human alphabets.
So, one word letters such as 'I' are too self-regarding
and are narcissistic anomalies
not true words at all.
Better words have more syllables than that
and have enabled us to form social sentences
more complex
which we can use for good or ill
peace or war, love or hate.
So watch your words and sentences
don't swing them recklessly in a crowded room
you'll put somebody's mind out
or create genius.
Big responsibility this
especially for us poets.
So in the end
in mass society
you and I are a single letter
but combined create all there is.
You can take that
as the first
and last
Word
And by the way
arbitrary letters
are electrons at the sub-atomic level
and combine to make molecules
and the greatest meaning of all
All of the Universe.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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18 Definitions Of A Short Poem
1) A short poem
Saves time,
2) A short poem
Saves time
For its reader, also.
3) A short poem is over
Before its read.
4) A short poem
Can be swiftly reread.
5) A short poem
Is a lightning flash.
6) A short poem
Is one metaphor only.
7) A short poem
Is less than nine words.
8) A short poem
Opens ones eyes
In the morning.
9) A short poem
May be a short prayer.
10) A short poem
May be a poem of a single word.
11) Poem.
12) A short poem
A small play on words.
13) A short poem
May be a single sentence.
14) A short poem is shorter
Than the definition of it.
15) It breaks up the icy sea within.
16) A chill down the spine.
17) There is no end
To making definitions of the short poem.
18) A short poem in Hebrew
Is shorter than than the same poem in English.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Transformation (2)
at first i was just a mere word
so i transformed myself into a sentence
and then not contented with what i am
a mere sound and syllable
an idea, a conceived meaning
i opted to have some cells
i learned how to make myself many
so i got duplicates and multiples
until i began to have a body
some hands and feet until i began
to have a definite form like circles and
squares and cubes until i became a man
and then i regretted all these
i went back to what i was
a mere word
now looking still
for my own meaning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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50 Years Later
I have no letter to show you my son
Said the modern father to his
Postmodern son.
Epistolary novel is a form of past
Why are you worried about such
Trivial matters like letter?
Asked the modern father to his
Postmodern son.
I got sms in my message box
I got mails in my pc
And deleted to make way to
New ones
Nothing remains forever dear
Said the proud father to his son.
I read about letters in little mags
My friends say it was really amazing
To share thoughts, feelings
Through letters
But you have nothing to show me
Ha! It's really very sad!
You should have some letters dad!
Said the postmodern son.
poem by Amitabh Roy
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The Impeccable...
each word is well chosen
it has a history and significance
each syllable is important
to build the empire
of his poem,
majestic now
people keep on reading
amazed and
awed
by the impeccable,
and yet for how long will this majesty
last?
only for once,
and then the reading is over
and no one talks about
the word, and the syllable is not even uttered
only for once and then
gone forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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8-3-1
The way I want you babe
Its embarrassing
I cant control myself
Its just too much for me
I cant concentrate
I dont know what to say
Except your name baby
The sweetest name
And when we kiss that kiss
Thats when it hits
With my heart and soul I say this
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
When you say my name
I begin to shake
I break out in a sweat
This is the best it gets
Theres nothing second rate
About this feeling babe
Its forever come what may
Its what I hope and pray yeah
And when we kiss that kiss
Thats when it hits
With my heart and soul I say this baby
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
Its understanding and its understood
And baby it sure feels good
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
And when we kiss that kiss
Thats when it hits
With my heart and soul I say this baby
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Words As Bridges...
in a true relationship
a word is a bridge that can connect
two distant cities,
it will take just a syllable to get to know
each other and cling like vines
on the trellis and give a flower
to the passers-by,
others have destroyed many bridges
with just one word, the harshest thing that can
happen to
syllables, like
saying bye. And it ends there like
a shadow of the
western movie against the sun
and then the curtains
fall
and we all leave and carry with us
the story of
guilt and forgiveness....
on my own experience
the words are always bridges to old cities
and though rusty
they still hold the missing gaps
and the river or the
sea below
will always be hungry for some
morsels of lives
to fall
in my own world
no word destroys, no syllable cuts
an umbilical cord,
i place it there. In print.
and time is powerless to erase it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Conversation
the meeting of words
familiarity winding through each letter
at first
everyday makes the conversation
lovelier
each syllable plunging
deeper
into the abyss of our souls
and then we
lightness and darkness
meet halfway
in the corridors of our silence
missing the meaning
of each origin
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Please Sign Your Letters
(sylvester / clarke / hicks)
Please sign your letters
Please dont make me blue
Please sign your letters,
And then Ill know its you
Cant stop thinking of you
Youre always on my mind
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind
I read your letter
I read most every line
You said you loved me,
Said you would be mine
My heart was jumping
Something shook my mind
I found your letter was left unsigned
Chorus
Your letter said wed met some time ago
Id like to see you,
But somehow you just wont show
I just dont know which way to go
Repeat
Chorus
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red Letters
Red letters
Cut deep
Soothe the pain inside.
Red letters
Bold and loud
Scream silently.
Red letters
Secret and hidden
But a cry for help.
Red letters -
A way to deal with this pain.
As I cut these words into my skin
I remember seeing red words somewhere before
Then it hits me like a lightning bolt -
Words of Jesus are printed in red. Words of Christ in red.
Red letters
Real truth, piercing deep
Soothes my pain inside.
Red letters
Your passion, Your blood
Covers me.
Red letters
Hope and life
I cry, 'Fill me! '
Red letters -
You were pierced and bloody
So I wouldn't have to be.
'What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus!
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus!
Oh! precious is the flow that makes me white as snow!
No other fount I know -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus! '
Red letters... Nothing but the blood -
Red letters... Nothing but the blood of Jesus!
poem by Zoe MacRae
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Write by Return
Clerk, corresponding,
“Rooster and Comb”,
Here I sit idle
“Thinking of home”;
I must be grafting—
Living to earn,
More correspondence,
“Write by return.”
Clerk in employ of
“Shoddy and Woods”,
Thinks that we have not
Forwarded goods.
Parcel we sent them—
Missing, I learn,
Says in his postscript:
“Write by return.”
Here is another
Letter from Bland—
“Cheque he expected
Isn’t to hand.”
How we forgot it
Cannot discern,
“Forward remittance,
Write by return.”
Here is another—
O how they come?
Treats of a “Bender”
Planned by a chum.
See on the margin,
Big letters: “Burn
After perusal—
Write by return.”
Mail in from England,
Letters for me—
Dear little sweetheart
Over the sea.
“Quite broken-hearted,
O how I yearn
Only to see you. . . .
Write by return.”
One who will “never
Think that I’m bad”
Writes me a letter
Tearful and sad.
Thinks that I’m starving,
Filled with concern,
Sends me some money—
“Write by return.”
Letter from father,
Sent to his son,
“All is forgiven—
Fat calf for one.”
O that I ever
Thought he was stern—
Money for passage—
Write by return.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Letters To No One
I wrote a letter to my love
and never received a reply.
I've often wondered why that was.
Did he up and die?
Yes, he did. It's a fact.
And because I didn't know
I kept writing letters
and kept feeling low.
These letters went to no one.
So no one wrote to me.
I've often wondered if all my words
would come back home to me?
And then one day they all came back.
'Undeliverable'
is what they said.
I guess my lover moved away
or maybe he was dead.
And so I stopped my letters.
I never wrote again.
I still have all those letters,
unopened and unread.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Zero One Slash Seventeen Slash Zero Nine
he does not like to use numbers
and so all his numbers are letters
and all his thoughts in numbers
are written in letters including the
date when his poem is written
making it the very title of the same
and all his emotions are in letters
even though he knows that each
feeling has a corresponding number
and even the colors are numbered
in letters. Blue is the number four.
Nine is class. Forty-seven is pride.
ninety-nine is not perfect and
one hundred is too much for an
old aging man like him who likes
to arrive at zero and then enjoy
his much needed rest. He likes to
be happy and wants to sleep, so he
begins to write, one, two, three, four,
five, six.... and so on and so forth.
autistic savant, they all call him.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Letters
I have a bunch of
Love letters
That express just how he feels
Every word every line
Are memorized in my mind
He tells of how he misses
Sweet moments yet to be
So that we can build a future
Just for you and me
His heart so warm
His love so grand
Sends shivers down my spine
I blush at tender moments
That only we two can share
The ecstasy of love
I write my declaration of love
In those letters from my heart
________________________
As the song goes
Love letters straight from your heart
Keep us so near while apart
I'm not alone in the night
When I can read every word that you write
©Copyright Kaila George 2012
poem by Kaila George
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