I Was The Magician Who Tried To Make Her Smile
when i met her along the way she was so sad
and tears keep flowing from her eyes
and i, as the great magician of my place,
took her inside my room and began to perform
the usual tricks, how my hands are quicker than her eyes,
i took a rabbit from my hat
i made flowers from my staff
crisp money from newspaper shreds
yet she is still as sad as a child looking for her mother
and i asked her what she likes she said:
'please make yourself vanish in air! '
of course, what i did was wiser, i vanished her myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Could Have Turned Her Into A Toad
when i met her along the way she was so sad
and tears kept flowing from her eyes
and i, as the great magician of my place,
took her inside my room and began to perform
the usual tricks,
how my hands are quicker than her eyes,
i took a rabbit from my blackhat
i made flowers from my long staff
crisp money from newspaper shreds
yet she is still as sad as a child looking for her mother
and her favorite rag doll
and i asked her what she really liked she without hesitation said:
'please make yourself vanish in air! '
of course, what i did was wiser, i vanished her myself.
with all regrets, i could have turned her into a toad.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Little Request To The Magician Who Pleased Me For A While
dear magician
i thank you for your tricks
indeed your hands
are skilled and my eyes
are failing me
i am amazed by the rabbit
popping out from your
black hat
the roses blooming
from your palms
the staff that turned
to rope
the newspaper cutting
becoming peso bills
but with due respect
may i ask you to perform
the last magic for the day
and hope that this may
not be a form of request
that may cause you
sorrow
for parting is such
between us
please make yourself
disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Stop, Face Reality
you have shown me
how to convert
this newspaper strips
into money
how this flower
turns into a white
rabbit
how the rabbit turns
into a hat
then back to a newspaper
strips again
magician, i am tired
of your illusions
how your hands
deftly deceived my
weaker eyes
now i have my last request
please perform this magic:
make yourself disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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279
you have shown me
how to convert
this newspaper strips
into money
how this flower
turns into a white
rabbit
how the rabbit turns
into a hat
then back to a newspaper
strips again
magician, i am tired
of your illusions
how your hands
deftly deceived my
weaker eyes
now i have my last request
please perform this magic:
make yourself disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Magician
He said
You will look right into my eyes
Repeat every word that I say
You want some magic in your life
My love is the only way
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
His body moves behind my eyes
Obsession grows
Its a private show
Magic man with a sleight of hand
Disappearing right into my soul
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaa whoaa ohh
Hes here again
That magic man
My eyes wont turn away
Just like magnets pull me in
I cant forget his face
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaa whoaa ohh
Whoaa whoaa ohh
I walk right up and said
Take me take me take me
No pride no shame, enchanted
Call it a dream but dont wake me
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
No matter how fast he goes
Feels like slow motion
Hypnotize me frame by frame
Caught in my own dream paradise frozen
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaaa ohhh
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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U16 Girls
I met a girl in LA
The million dollar kind
She was all for all or nothing
She was open all the time
But when I called her number
Her mother's on the line sayin'
You've no business
As God's my witness
With a child as young as mine
So make sure that she's old enough
Before you blow your mind
She may look like she knows enough
But look her in the eye
And if so
Let her go
You'll let her down in style
I met a girl in Paris
She talked like Vera Lynn
And her eyes were full of dew drop
The moment I walked in
She was awfully nice
The kind that likes to win
But if I'd been wiser
A whole lot wiser
Then I might have thought again
song performed by by Travis from Good Feeling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Final Wish For The Magician
between us and the magician
what do you find?
the ahs and ohs and omgs
it is his hands and it is our very own eyes betraying us,
we wish that all these miseries can be solved
with the use of the sleigh of his hands
we reflect once more when we are so silent
his hat giving birth to rabbits
his black baton turning into flowers
his handkerchiefs into butterflies
his newspaper folds turning into dollar bills
the magic does not really work
we take things as they are now
and we let him know at the end of the show
we wish that he'd disappear from our view.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Peom For K. (The Banker With All The Conflicting Interests)
i shall now write
a poem for my happiest day,
it is all about an old, scheming and fraudulent
woman
stacking all her money and the money of the other
people
inside her room
inside her house and inside
her bigger storehouses
she says
these are all for her children
and grandchildren and the children
of all her grandchildren and
all the coming children of more
grandchildren & great great grandchildren
what is mad about this is
that she is taking the money due
to other people who are hungry and innocent
and gullible
but she is a very
wise woman and she gets what she wants
she gets what she all wants
practically everything that her hands can
hold her eyes can see
perhaps
forgetting that soon she will be
made to pay for the price of her greed
and avarice and dirty schemes and
foul techniques and it will be for all
her children and grandchildren and the children
of all her grandchildren and
all the coming children of more
grandchildren all the coming children of more
great grandchildren &
great great grandchildren
...and then justice shall reign
but when it comes
i shall not see this event anymore
but i will be happy
>>>ii
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mum And Dad's Silly Sayings
If you keep looking that way your face will stay,
Said my mum when I pulled a face one day;
What made her say it, how could it be?
It seemed so very silly, would it happen to me?
I have eyes in the back of my head, was it true?
So my sister searched for them, but no can do,
Where would a second pair of eyes ever be?
No, we couldn't find them, wasn't that funny?
I think of another saying she said to us three,
When we asked for her to give us some money;
Do you think, that I'm rich, or money grows on the tree?
So why would she say that, we never ever did see.
There was another one, when we asked how they met,
Was told in the cabbage patch, but was she a bug or a pet?
And then dad said to our surprise, we met in when in the cot,
But when we asked them how, it seemed to put them in a spot.
So! Why do parents go on with such talk, it doesn't make sense,
Like if we wanted take away,, let's do window shopping it's no expense;
But looking and not buying never filled us at all, we still were hungry,
And when we asked again and said I'm hungry, she'd say hello hungry.
I glad I don't go on like my mother and my dad,
The silly and ridiculous sayings, sure made me mad;
How could they say them, when they were not real,
Mum's say we are stupid, and don't care how we feel.
poem by Margaret Haig
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Magician's Magic
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
A bag of tricks, a magician can do.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you wth this.
Or he can trick you with that.
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
He can saw a lady in half.
He can split her in two.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
These are some things, a magician can do.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can saw a lady in half.
Then he ca split her in two.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
These are some things, a magician can do.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
These are some things, a magician can do.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you..
Magic-Song-Poem-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2009..
All rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Ennui (whatever)
there are four corners of this room
(as usual, us usual,
we are here again, both
on a togetherness
since the early days of our
union)
i want to go away, remember the flight
of the little bird, away from its mother's nest?
but i can't, your tears are holding me
like a mother,
and so how can a son get away?
how can a lover go away and be stripped
from its beloved?
the vinyl floors are dusty
the curtains unwashed for weeks
the door creaks like a man complaining
for its usual work
to close and open
to open and close
the door has always been closed in here
there is no exit
but i shall not scream, that is too much for this
harrowing experience
there is no tv, no ref, just the sound of an AM/FM radio
that i bought from a cheap department store
i hold your hands
that is enough for me now.
i stare at the ceiling, and then i get so weary and i close my eyes
asking shelter
in the colored world of dreams.
are you happy now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Growing Up
Folded in your fleshy purse
I am floating once again
While the muted sounds are pumping rhythm
All the walls close in on me
Pressures building wave on wave
til the water breaks and outside I go, oh
One dot, thats on or off, defines what is and what is not, one dot
Two dot, a pair of eyes, a voice, a touch, complete surprise, two dot
Growing up, growing up,
Looking for a place to live
Growing up, growing up
Looking for a place to live
Growing up, growing up,
Looking for a place to live
My ghost likes to travel so far in the unknown
My ghost likes to travel so deep into your space
Three dot, a trinity, a way to map the universe,
Three dot
Four dot, is what will make a square, a bed to build on, its all there,
Four dot
My ghost likes to travel so far in the unknown
My ghost likes to travel so deep into your space
All the slow clouds pass us by
Make the empire state look high
As you take me in your sea-stained sweetness
It spills, it tingles and it stings
All the pleasure that it brings
til the door has let the outside inside here
Well on the floor theres a long wooden table
On the table theres an open book
On the page theres a detailed drawing
And on the drawing is the name I took
My ghost likes to travel so far in the unknown
My ghost likes to travel so deep into your space
Growing up, growing up,
Looking for a place to live
Growing up, growing up
Looking for a place to live
Growing up, growing up,
Looking for a place to live
Growing up, growing up,
Looking for a place to live
My ghost likes to travel
My ghost likes to travel
Moving inside of your space
My ghost likes to travel
My ghost likes to travel
Moving inside of your space
My ghost likes to travel
Moving inside
My ghost likes to travel
Moving inside of your space
My ghost likes to travel
Moving inside
My ghost likes to travel
Moving inside of your space
The breathing stops, I dont know when
In transition once again
Such a struggle getting through these changes
And it all seems so absurd
To be flying like a bird
When I do not feel Ive really landed here
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ee Valliyil Ninnu Chemme
Child: Oh mother! Look, all the flowers on
This plant are flying away
Mother: No! You are wrong my child
These are not flowers, they are butterflies.
Child: Look mother! They look so beautiful
Going one on top of the other into the sky
Oh! How I wish to play with them mother
But like them I cannot fly…
Mother: Don’t waste your precious tears my child
By crying about things you cannot do
You can walk around and play
But can the flowers walk like you?
Child: Mother, can you tell me why these things happen
I shall give you a kissy if you do.
Mother: We know very little about the secrets of life
Though I know God created them for me and you!!
poem by Kumaranashan, translated by Risha Ahmed
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When Her Brothers Were Away.
When Monica asked
if she could go with you
and her brothers
bike riding
her mother said
no you're too young
or if she asked
to go with you
and Jim and Pete
to the cinema
to see the latest
Elvis flick
her mother said
definitely not
it's not for young girls
and Monica'd storm indoors
slamming the door
shouting I hate you all
but when you called one day
and her brothers were out
(gone to see their big brother
about some old motorbike)
her mother said
yes come in and wait
and Monica was
pleased as Punch
especially when
her mother said
you could stay to lunch
and I can show you
over the place
Monica said
and after lunch maybe
we can go for a bike ride
along the small lanes
and maybe you
could show me
some judo moves
and her mother said
we'll see I'm not sure
Benedict will want
to do those kind
of things with a girl
and went off
to make lunch
and Monica showed you
all over the house
whose room was whose
and up in the attic
she said
this is my room
and took your hand
and took you
to the window
and said
see the view I've got?
Isn't it the best?
and you said
yes it's good
and you took in the view
and looking around
the room you saw her bed
and the big pink elephant
there by the wall
staring at you
and she said
that's Pinkie
isn't she great?
sure
you said
and she took you
down the stairs
to the kitchen for lunch
and her mother
chatted away
about her sons
and Monica sat there
gawking at you
her eyes studying
each aspect of you
her eyes large
as saucers
blue and beautiful
and after lunch
you showed her
a few judo moves
which she loved
especially when
your hands moved her
and you sensed
her almost ready
to burst with joy
and just before
you were ready
to go for a ride
on the bikes
her brothers came
and shooed her away
and she went off
giving them the evil eye
but you she gave
the young girl wink
the we know
what they don't smile
and off you rode
with her brothers
but she kept
those moments with you
(to herself)
as if you were
Romeo and Juliet
fond lovers.
poem by Terry Collett
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She Likes Night
She likes night
Not wish to be in day light
How beautiful is this night
Everyone is sleeping so delight
In the night she can breath freely
No one upset her unnecessarily
In the day she is endeavoring to hide herself
People wandering to ensnare her by themselves
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
In the day she has to go to school
Fear of flattering in front of other children be fool
Her school fees not yet paid
She is wandering for money to be made
In the day everyone wears beautiful dresses
But she has nothing to impresses
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
In the day she do not go to church masses
Everyone glazing in to her eyes not to Jesus
Tried to close her eyes towards other
But still she can hear the murmurs from the air
In the day she cannot see dreams
For her the time is so extreme
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
In the night she can shed her tears
In the night she can murmur her prayers
She can see her parents on the sky
They are there among the stars looking into her eyes
She likes to be one among them
But still she is living for someone
So, she likes night
Not wish to be in day light
Aswathi
poem by Aswathi Asok
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At The Death of a Young Girl
I see its raw fury clawing at her hands,
Kissing her sallow face with lies so perfect on silk pillows,
Concealing raw, gaping wounds inside, the insult
The harsh silence, the enforced peace.
I have seen all this before, this beast, this darkness, this indifference
To waves of anguish washing through the room
As her mother weeps, and her father strokes
Her dark, perfect hair.
I see her, and
I know.
But what am I to say to their terror? These children
Look at me, questioning … after all,
I am their teacher…
But why did she die? , well, asthma… breath denied… but why?
I know this insistent knot, this question piercing my gut,
And I want to hide in silence, but questions will not be denied,
And I know their questions, all of them…
So what am I to say to calm their red, flowing eyes,
These, my poor, dark flowers, piercing me with their tears?
Faith.
Yes, read the book to them…Lazarus found out… faith…
Promises were made, now to be made good.
Yes, faith… what else is there but
Faith?
And so we say the rosary,
And we go on.
poem by Steven Federle
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Crayons
Flowers of Bach in a violet choir
Soft angels in perfect middle C
Harmony where lover’s pray
Soprano sings like starlight
Heaven is a daily pathway
Her eyes seek a child’s smile
Her hands work to bring joy
Her pain hides behind strength
A mother with tears
A mother who wants her child happy
She tells me about her son’s new crayons
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
Please dont cry
For the ghost and the storm outside
Will not invade this sacred shrine
Nor infiltrate your mind
My life down I shall lie
If the bogey-man should try
To play tricks on your sacred mind
To tease, torment, and tantalise
Wavering shadows loom
A piano plays in an empty room
Therell be blood on the cleaver tonight
And when darknesss lifts and the room is bright
Ill still be by your side
For you are all that matters
And Ill love you to till the day I die
There never need be longing in your eyes
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine
Ceiling shadows shimmy by
And when the wardrobe towers like a beast of prey
Theres sadness in your beautiful eyes
Oh, your untouched, unsoiled, wonderous eyes
My life down I shall lie
Should restless spirits try
To play tricks on your sacred mind
I once had a child, and it saved my life
And I never even asked his name
I just looked into his wondrous eyes
And said : never never never again
And all too soon I did return
Just like a moth to a flame
So rattle my bones all over the stones
Im only a beggar-man whom nobody owns
Oh, see how words as old as sin
Fit me like a glove
Im here and here Ill stay
Together we lie, together we pray
There never need be longing in your eyes
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine
Mine
Climb up on my knee, sonny boy
Although youre only three, sonny boy
Youre - youre mine
And your mother she just never knew
Oh, your mother ...
As long ... as long ... as long
I did my best for her
I did my best for her
As long ... as long ... as long as ... as long
I did my best for her
I did my best for her
Oh ...
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mama, My Lovely Mother
When at infancy, I wee inside her food
She never stop eating
my mama, my lovely mother
When am ill and sad, healthy and happy,
She keep praying for me
my mama, my lovely mother
When I started crawling,
Tears of affection made her eyes heavy
my mama, my lovely mother
When I walk, her fear increases,
That I might go the wrong way
and get hurt
my mama, my lovely mother
When she look at me,
Her gaze always ask me,
How are you my child
my mama, my lovely mother
When am sick, it brings out
The doctor in her
my mama, my lovely mother
I never grow old for her tender love,
Oh! God bless my mother and make
Her proud of me
my mama, my lovely mother
poem by Michael Odor
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