En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Like To Believe In Reincarnation

i imagine a room
and you are alone,
i do not like to hear a sound of weeping,

do not
weep,

silence is more decent,
it wears the fabric of dignity

a suffering with dignity
the one with eyes that stare at the incoming death
without blinking

the courage of blood corpuscles
that keeps on circulating despite the inevitability of an
ending

there is a travel that has no destination
if we choose to

it is like changing clothes
because we believe in the series of occasions

some wise guys call it a cycle

now, tomorrow, tonight
early morning
noon, the fading of the sun
the shining moments
of little glories

we must believe this
in order not to be shocked by constant endings

it is like a window
where from time to time we set aside
a silk fabric
with tiny embroidered flowers

we open it
when we like it

and when we are tired
we close it

just that.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Writer In Me

there is silence
in my struggle
there is dignity
in my suffering

coat and tie
flawless fabric
of my
existence

there is secrecy
in my quest
there is no sharing
of my misery

i have only sorrow
as company of my sorrow
i have only some tears
for my joys

i always have
open arms for Thy Will
I seal my fate with
a kiss
i always take the
incoming as
a form of hope

i keep this silence
i write these words.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dark

What will I do with a fountain
of time
my silence
is a well without a dropp of water
I can weep in the dark
weep and its silence will hear me
but it will close its eyes
it will not speak
the evening will tread on
quietly an old man
it will walk on without looking back
without seeing where its shadow
sleeps
and I can say wait where
are you going
and I can think of all the places I can think of
I can think of walls walls walls
of walls behind which anything lurks
I can lock myself
in a closet full of clothes not my size
fill my pockets with dust
or take off my clothes and imagine
my skin is ice
and I will be standing here
where I am standing stepping on moments
that sharpen into hours like thorns
into my feet
the wound in my heart is deep
the pain does not answer to any name
where is the door
the window the door

*reprinted from a friend

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

All Flowers In Time Bend Towards The Sun

my eyes are
a baptism
oh i am filth
and sing her
into my thoughts
oh phantom elusive thing oh,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one, here is one... here is one
aah, ooh...
one that can never be known
either all drunk with the world at her feet
or sober with no place to go
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one, here is one... here is one
aah, ooh...
we could go (......)
we can travel round
fading farther from me
with your face in my window call
when will you weep for me
sweet willow
it's ok to be angry
but not to hurt me
your happiness, yes, yes, yes
darling, darling,
oooh...
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one,
all flowers in time bend towards the sun
i know you say that there's no-one for you
but here is one, here is one... here is one

song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Early morning rain

Early morning rain
~
Rain taps upon the window
while the faint light of morning
lines the gap between curtains
a halo of pale blue illuminates
the darkness of the room
a cold beyond the duvet
invites a reason not to move
while tired eyes open and close
motionless I lay here listening
to the sound of the rain
like restless fingers drumming
upon the windowpane
in the early hours of morning
I lay awake

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Death Dies Again

It was death himself
at my swords tip
shocked at his predicament
unaccustomed as he was
to insouciance
and unfamiliar he was
with his own impending ending.

How do you tell Death that
his own death comes?

He said.
'How am I to meet
alls end this way
when I am the very symbol
of the terminus;
the end for all and the other many? '

'Tell me how I am come to this end;
the irony of my own dead death
now near? '

'Death must die' I said
as life itself begins'

'Its not so mysterious Death
to understand.
You are not the end but
my own beginning
and I am life's insistence at the beginning;
that coming to the fore
youth moving to sure
and steady borning.

'That is the cycle of all things, '
I said.
'You die death;
not a sad departing
but my own new beginning.

'How sad' Death said
'I understand your glib reckoning
but my death to me is personal
and while the Great Cycle
to you is mesmerizing
for me it is my fully sensed ending.

Endings are personal and while
loves I've known
have found new loves
it has not
and did not
obliterate
old love's ending.
And that is I.

Old loves die
and their death
is not erased
by new love's
beginning;
they fade
away amid the sad
sighings
we hear at night
when alone
in our beds

in the dark
crying.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dignity

Dignity is what we want,
As human beings on this earth;
Dignity is what we can’t,
Give up anyway since birth.

Dignity is innate right,
God has bestowed man, He made;
Dignity is cause to fight
When employees get under-paid.

Dignity, all need always
At home, at school and one’s work-place;
Dignity for human race,
Men must guarantee all days.

Dignity in livelihood,
Receive should all citizens;
Dignity in dying too,
World must assure everyone.

Dignity is what we need
In life on earth and when we die;
Dignity is good indeed
For creatures born under the sky.

Dignity for man and beast
Is a must for all, west / east;
Dignity for anyone
Shouldn’t be denied, any time!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-26-2006

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Death With Dignity In Canada Oct 29th,2012

If the church has forbidden death with dignity; what else have they banned?
Are pedophile priests still hidden in this multicultural land?
Are abortions allowed to kill unborn babies here and there?
Should I apologize for being so bold and showing that I care?

If the States of Oregon and Washington can change things around,
Should the other states and should Canada hear the campaign sound?
Could we all die in dignity instead of devastating pain?
I think it would be better to hear the death-with-dignity campaign.

If ladies can have abortions here and there; then and now,
Why can't we have death-with-dignity instead of a pompous row?
Is it illegal or a sin or disgusting to talk about this?
Several European countries have it now, including the Swiss

poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

This Morning

Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing left to give
Nothing more in you
Nothing else to have or hold
Nothing left, but time to go
Time to go
Years go by
Didn't really say that much at all
And moments just fly
Didn't ever really touch at all
Weeks always run down
Didn't really get that close at all
And days, days fall out
Didn't ever really know at all
And then we're here in a room too clean and too bright
She stares at you for an hour
You stare into the light
For one last hour in the room
So mean and so white
I stare at her in this room as she stares into the night
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing left to ask
Nothing more of you
Nothing else to share or show
Nothing left but time to go
In his eyes as we turn no eternity of life
In his eyes as we turn no infinity of why
In his eyes as we turn no beautiful goodbye
In his eyes as we turn...nothing but tears
In his eyes as we turn...nothing but tears
(spoken:) I couldn't understand too much of what was being said
In a matter of minutes
Peacefully so slow
I had to think to breathe
My heart burst
We moved in silence really slowly away from the world
As we drove a strange silence
That moment
Nothing will ever be the same
Nothing will ever be the same
Nothing will ever be the same
Days fall out
Weeks always run down
Moments just fly
Weeks go by
And then we're here
And then we're here in a room too clean and too bright
I stare at you for an hour
You stare into the light
For one last hour in the room so mean and so white
You stare at me in this room as I stare into the night
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing more to take
Nothing more from you
Nothing else to need or know
There's nothing left at all...but time to go

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Early morning when the first rays fall (pantoum)

Early morning when the first rays fall,
when the sun hangs blood red
this part of the universe recall,
in moments of awakening that has been acquired.

When the sun hangs blood red,
birds twitter with the songs they sing
in moments of awakening that has been acquired
as the good news of the morning that they bring.

Birds twitter with the songs they sing,
to and thro insects and bees fly
as the good news of the morning that they bring,
with butterflies rocking on flowers under the blue sky.

To and thro insects and bees fly,
the buds of morning glories open to the sun,
with butterflies rocking on flowers under the blue sky,
ants in brigades begin their daily fun.

The buds of morning glories open to the sun
early morning when the first rays fall,
ants in brigades begin their daily fun
in moments of awakening that has been acquired

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

As You Humiliate Yourself

you volunteer to shrink a little bit
like a rotten pumpkin to
let her know that you also know how to die
and find a way to reach her
in her own death.

you let go all that is fluid something that is liquid
you make these
turn to gas so you also have a way of telling her
that you also know how to disappear

she may close her eyes in anger because of you
she may like to abuse you and not talk to you as you gaze to find out
the reason why the stars are not out tonight
why there is not a single shining moon

you are so patient waiting like a fisherman with his bait
to catch a fish tonight
out there in the deep sea in desolation

you give her time to change and to understand your longing
for stars
your thirst for the light of the moon

it will be painful, you have humiliated yourself in all these
shrinking of your arms and hands
you become like a tiny dot in humility to the line of
bold letters and exclamation marks

you give up, you get out of the bed and stopped staring at the ceiling
you open the door of this cold room and you close it again
to leave her
still closing her eyes keeping her tears from falling.

it is over you say. it is over. it is too late. another door has been locked
and this time you do not wish anyone in.

a wise man sometimes likes to use
a period.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Hypocrisy Nov 11th,2012

If we ever get death-with-dignity; we can then relax,
And not be afraid to face the unknown end-of-life facts,
We are caught in these circumstances whether we like it or not,
In location, time, language, religion and we are all caught.

Because our life spans vary according to each one of us,
But we can't choose death-with-dignity and we can't make a fuss,
But death-with-dignity seems to me to be a good way to go,
Otherwise you go to Switzerland and spend a lot of dough.

This gets more important as you get older and older,
Or sicker and sicker and they still give you the cold shoulder,
A graphic illustration of isolation in our democracy,
And they want nothing to change in their hypocrisy.

poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Top-Secret Stuff Nov 12th,2012

Death-with-dignity is important if you get Lou Gehrig's disease,
You can't avoid the oncoming pain and there are no guarantees,
But death-with-dignity in Canada is completely banned,
By an executive order from the Ottawa command.

Both binding referendums and death-with-dignity are denied,
Is this democracy, dictatorship or Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?
Why do our appointees and politicians just smile and walk away?
Why are media moguls so careful in what they write and say?

Top-secret stuff never mentioned in the obedient press,
Ideas about death-with-dignity are never expressed,
Binding referendums are the flashpoint of future change,
Why are they so difficult to arrange and why so strange?

poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Book

Standing at the door, to your room, I lean against the frame,
I am frozen, I whisper your name.
The chair at the desk, where you always sat, to work
is in place, unmoved, in the dark.
I sigh, holding my breathe, I switch on the light
I say your name, adjust my eyes to the sight.
Everything is in its place, unmoved, just waiting
on your return, digital clock on desk blinking
in even rhythm, as time moves on,
unaware, uncaring that you are gone.
on the wall, family pictures of the past
moments in time, captured, held fast.
Afraid to break the silence, to enter the room, I wait
and for a moment I pretend you are just late,
that I will turn as I hear your footsteps on the stair
and see you standing, smiling, blue eyes full of care.
and then, that moment, that hope, has past
one heavy foot forward, I enter the room at last.
An inspiration, to me, to all of us, friends and family
you dealt with your illness, with strength and dignity,
I can still hear your laughter, your silly jokes,
remembering your love for books and gadgets.
reminiscing, I notice on your desk, a book
lying open, page marked, I move to have a look
As I read I start to smile, your last message,
the lyrics from Life of Brian, a circled passage
'Always look on the Bright side of Life'
for my children and my wife.

poem by Julie Duff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

She Shut Your Eyes

She shut your eyes
Now you could say better luck next time
But I know you're about to die
How deep can you drill into a man's soul
Still say better luck next time
When the only thing to fill it with is a lie

So say what you want
But drops of crystal clear water
Has been falling into your heart

Now you're sick of lying
Tonight a star is shining
On a heart that's dying
The morning star is shining again
So you better wake up
You better rise up
The morning star is shining again

How long has it been since you gave in
Did it just take all this time
For you to see you're not the Messiah
She shut your eyes
Or did you do it yourself with time
Did you on purpose walk astray
Did you choose to be a liar

A star called your name
Will you use your voice to answer
Just one last time

Now you're sick of lying down again...

song performed by by Blindside from Silence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Preparation Day

The light is fading early today.

Rain turns the whole world to night.

I drive through watery streets,
headlights
stretch to bright tapers,
red lamps
softly trailing
blood beneath my wheels.

Death’s details
fill my busy day.

First, the uncut granite,
sorted and sized,
words neatly arranged,
ready to inscribe
the bare facts of your life,

and then on to the small, white house,
with its big front window and spring garden
hidden behind the black iron gate;

this is where your party will be.

Our guests will arrive soon,
and I must order flowers, great
purple blooms
to dim this too bright room.

Now we’re nearly finished,

but first I must see
to your final ground,
small patch
of turned earth,

and then tomorrow you can finally rest.

Attend us gently
as we weep
and slowly walk away.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In My Room The Window Is Open

in my room the window is open
as i sleep tonight

you shall be the moon
as i wait for your shining light

in my room the window is open
come tonight

wrap me with the warmth of the
fullness of your moonlight

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

429

in my room the window is open
as i sleep tonight

you shall be the moon
as i wait for your shining light

in my room the window is open
come tonight

wrap me with the warmth of the
fullness of your moonlight

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Euthanasia In Canada Sept 25th,2012

Sure, old folk can sometimes see the handwriting on the wall,
Death might be getting closer unless they can have it stalled,
They'd like an easy way out if they can get it legal and right,
Maybe binding referendums and death with dignity, day or night.

But our politicians are busy at the moment and what's your name?
And death with dignity is very illegal so that's not the same,
You'll have to call back again sometime or just send an e-mail,
And if you die in the meantime, we'll put it in the garbage pail.

Because in Canada, death with dignity is completely banned,
And if you are caught in this Canadian trap, you could be damned,
Because not only that; the church says DWD is a mortal sin,
So it's down to hell you'll go with the other sinners then.

poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

On Dating A Woman Not Your Wife

oh i know how it feels

i wear black
a coat to blend to the night
when i date
a woman not my wife

i imagine a room
a bottle of champagne
a glass

i imagine i undress myself
have my shower
with her
together

we clean ourselves with soap
and water
at the hotel

and then we wipe ourselves
with a clean white
towel

and we spray perfume
to our warm bodies
we imagine
we sleep tonight
and do
the things we have long imagined

we imagine
we wake up the following morning
some light
filtering in
the venetian blinds

some lights
stab our eyes
and we feel the hurt after
the pleasures
that even outside the room
of the hotel that night

we still imagine
sometimes we imagine we have no guilt at all
but it is always there

we still imagine
and we imagine we can sleep soundly

on eyes closed
we travel somewhere else thinking about the first paradise

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

No Thing

Stare through fabric to the wall,
Loosing gaze into the centre of red rose weeping,
Why does it feel as I am sleeping?
Nothing’s so real these days.

I walk within the shadow of myself,
Dance in duel reality,
Black, White, Wrong, Right,
All ghost concepts in this new world of mine.
No time nor space to swim,
Truly No Thing.

With this I could be happy
Though no happiness I’d feel,
Just one moment for a lifetime,
Eternal turn upon the wheel.

Of life all death is ending,
Of death all life begun,
All souls are worth befriending,
All souls into the sun.

We find ourselves at a loss to speak,
Confronted with the world of true experience,
Dimensions folding into one.
Eye sight paralysed,
See into the seer ,
Sing into the sun.

poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!