In Our Silence....
for nude images
we may put some words
for further flesh
for the nudes before us
the beauty of the curves and bold colors
shades of dim and pale and twilight
whispers of the unrequited longings of dawn
gasps of the possibility of fulfillment
no words are ever enough
let the hands do it for the body
let the body free
do not restrain the use of words
lick whatever silence offers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
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Beyond Words Beyond Images
it is ironic, these words claiming
that one day, these words will be beyond words,
that these images will be beyond images
that i will be like those who went their way alone
not befriending anyone but keeps on writing
in the middle of the storm
and cyclones and typhoons
and quakes and volcanic eruptions
beyond destruction, beyond words, beyond images.
smart man.
unlimited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words.... (Poetry Itself)
words do not heal the broken hearted,
words do not end wars.
words do not change the face of indifference,
words do not impress god!
words do not feed the hungry,
nor set the captives free.
words do not give shelter to the homeless,
or hope to those ridden with despair.
words do not stop discrimination,
words do not bring justice.
words do not bring forgiveness,
nor do they bring understanding...
words do not fill the empty,
nor erase the scars of love...
words do not define dialogue!
it is only then,
the hands and feet of the human heart...
and poetry itself is nothing more,
than the action of involved compassion!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Parroting Courtesies
my niece asks me to hand a spoon
and i ask her to say 'please' and she utters the word
(perhaps her mama does not teach her the word)
and i hand her the spoon and she is afraid to say the word 'thank you'
and i tell her to say the word and she says it as though it is a strange word
for her (perhaps her dad, who is my brother seldom uses the word in their
house)
and then i tell her after she says thank you 'welcome my dear'
and she giggles, perhaps the words are ticklers to her frail body
to her small hands, to her fingers which grabbed the spoon as though
there are not so many
so many spoons in this world, we know that,
but the courtesies are forgotten, as this happens i feel like i am
parroting words, and sometimes i reflect: do i also really understand
these words, deep down to the longings of my heart?
thanks, but am i that really thankful to God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lip Service
Words inspire and words destroy
Words conspire and words annoy
Words spread freedom and words detain
Words believe them in sound refrain
Words of passion in words misleading
Words without action are words without meaning
poem by P.R. Prosper
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Only In My Mind
thoughts fire
mind blaze
run on wind
words sing mind melodies
words sing song new images
dance in heart veins flow
words shape shift
into new thoughts
concepts poems
several are written
in time heart beats
wonder stirs anew
but only in my mind
where the beauty sings
sung sight meditation
no words given unto paper
no words processed on light screen
no words kept mind record
dart of honeybird flight
bats fly sonar night vision
wing beats of wonder
words released born free
poem by Terence George Craddock
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From Distance: The Moon
I am not looking for words
to talk on my behalf;
instead,
I choose silence.
If I can express my silence in words
I would stop at this line.
Silence
is a remedy
for ill words
until
words become a sea of silence
and the sea waves migrate to the surface
of the moon.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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When I Will Meet You Again
when i meet you again
i will not use words
i will not utter your name
i will look at you and go closer
my lips closer to your lips
my hands caressing your hands your hair your body
i will have no use of words
they will be unnecessary and time so short shall have no regrets
for i shall have your kiss your sweet caress
i have no use of words for i shall make love with you the whole night long.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Taking A Glance At You
taking a glance at you
is poetry in itself, by itself and for itself.
there are words in my eyes
they speak in silence. They long to tell you what i feel.
there are hands on my lips. There are fingers there.
They long to go near you and kiss your lips too.
i see you as words too. Your eyes are images of my
own happiness. Your lips are shaping the shapes of ships
and they have sails to take me away to ecstacies.
i feel you as words of love, and lust and desire insatiable.
my fingers want to read every syllable in your face.
you have always been my poem.And there are so many of you
in all of them.
words, and images, and ecstacies. faces and compositions.
i love all of them. And this time i take a glance again.
at you. this poem. this is you. Believe me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Role Of Grief Via Silence....
for as long as grief
does not leave you
silence will always speak louder
than any
shouts of joy or whispers of romance
silence is that brick on the road
cars are disturbed by its red elegance
women find it not just for the house
little in-significances
life is more chiseled this time
refined garments
perfumed feet
shiny white fingernails
drops of rain beneath the soiled feet
for as long as grief hovers on
unrequited love
there will always be more to tell
not in words not in words
it is the silence
that dwells on the wounded lips
it is the silence
that creeps in the heart
deadens the tongue
glowing soul, winged spirit without wounds
now, pure joy like light dispersed
in black skies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If I Had Words/ For The Colors Of Leaves
IF I HAD WORDS
If I had words
For the colors of leaves
Then I might be
The poet of trees-
But all these shades
Beyond my means-
The wonders of God’s world
Must be seen
To be redeemed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Things You Say
Words
Said in a careless huff as you walked away
Hurt
Words
Said in a whispered excited voice
Caused electricity in me
Words
Said in a caring loving way
Were a balm for the wound in me
Words
Said in an angry menacing way
Felt like daggers thrown at me
Words
Said like sugary sweet morning due
Caused my knees to go weak
Words
Words, Words, Words..
Your words have so much power over me
Words
Said like a magic spell
Have enchanted me
Words
You throw around those words so carelessly
Do you know
Words
How they have been affecting and inflicting me..
poem by Rabia Minhas
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A painter
A painter on study
sketched two nudes
In canvass, a nude
Man & woman
The man in hard
Solid lines his torso
His thighs his legs
Well chiseled by
The dark colors
Of his brush, and
The woman in
Smooth lines, her
Fragile hands, her
Soft breasts, her
Thin lines in light
Feminine colors,
He so admired
His nude creations,
And he stared
At the magic
He just painted,
And tired for
Hours, he just
Blinked a while
Wanting a little
Slip, he faltered,
He blinked and
Winked for a second,
Surprised, only to
Find out that the two
Are suddenly missing
not looking for food
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: Poetic Limits
Can words depict the true beauty of things?
Can words describe the truth of every scene?
Can words expound the hearts of all earthlings?
Can words decode the joy of things unseen?
Can words bring out the beauty of music?
Can words suffice to explain mysteries?
Can words repaint the beauty of a ‘pic’?
Can words spell out the taste of foods/berries?
And yet, the poet slogs with words and sounds;
With mastery and skills, unique, unknown;
And takes the reader’s hearts to divine grounds,
Or earthly terrains akin to their own.
Kudos to Bards! Who pen and sing supreme,
To create things felt/seen or in a dream.
9-21-2002
poem by John Celes
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The World Has Had Enough Of My Words
THE WORLD HAS HAD ENOUGH OF MY WORDS
The world has had enough of my words.
It didn’t care for them much anyway.
Let others come and write
A few of them will have the power and beauty
I have not.
The world has had enough of my words
And if I go on writing them
Let it be in knowing silence
That dare not disturb.
Let others do what I never could.
Perhaps there is still for some
Salvation in words.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Limitations Of The Body...
sometimes i forget that i have a body
it is only when i eat that i remember i have one
but most of the times
i am full and so i almost forget all about this body
i am feeding it with wrong things
ideas, more ideas,
i am covering it with mysteries that it cannot relate because
a body is just a body
earthly, mundane
clay,
stick, creepy
skin, hair
sunken eyes,
trembling hands
it is flesh, bones, cartilages,
and
nerves, and when all these nerves take revenge on me
i shall finally lose this body
which i welcome somehow
because i have not experienced it yet
fully
i live in the mind,
my castle is in my imagination,
and i eat nothing for the day
but words
and i drink nothing for the day but ink
and i touch nothing for the day
but keys
the body is forgotten and so are my chains,
my prisons, my
dark rooms,
my body, this fetter,
this
ball and chain that hold me
in hunger and pain and
thirst and
constant urination,
disturbing
defecation
sometimes i like to become nothing but air
so you cannot see me anymore so i can go places and be lost forever
because i am not this body,
and i do not want to be caught in here
a little longer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Temple Is Not A Temple Of Selfishness
this is my body
this is my temple
this is where my spirit lives
in flesh and bones
this is my face
this is my skin
these are my feelings
these are my hopes and aspirations
now touch me
now let your fingers run over my skin
let me feel you too
like i am no longer an island
a body of water
a river a sea where boats always sail away from me
where birds just pass and fly by
destined for another place to another shore to another bush
this is my body this is desire this is hunger and thirst and longing
feed me with your body
satisfy my thirst
fill my longings with your longings too
let your river chain my body
let your sea fill my land let your skies be above to wrap me
to shelter me to fill me also with more stars and moons and suns
let me not be all alone like a space without anything without a flicker
let me become a universe glowing and hushing and lushing with life
this is my body this is your body too
let us breathe let us touch let us push through
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Avenue of My Body.
you pick up your brush
since gave up his words
and draws a line
and says that I am
I'm a bit more than that
2 dashes already enough
I take your hands
and gently paint some words
you no longer understands
then I paint my picture
I'm a bit more than that
2 dashes not enough
then, by drawing on me
which carbon paper
to see if you remember
Who I Am
I'm a bit more than that
a silhouette is not enough
A ghost you say
want something more solid?
open your hands
black ink seeping through his fingers
I'm a bit more than that
invisible ink and so thin
Black and white
really try scribble my Body
So I am
The pale line again
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Dad and Son
A dad, a son,
One life, one love,
A road, all alone,
One last strife, from above.
Dad's ticket has been bought,
Dad's heart has been shot.
Unfair, son cries,
Dad dries.
Shaky hands rub son's face,
With embrace,
Dad whispers words,
In son's ear.
Another tear of the son falls,
On dad's palm vanishing with rainfalls.
Can not breathe easy,
Blood flows from dad's body.
Dad smiles and looks his son,
As his hand falls on the ground.
Eyes stay glassy and empty,
A tear dropp stays still on dad's eyelash.
Tears in son's eyes,
Dad slowly dies,
In weak son's hands.
By the road purple lilies smile,
Red roses seem to die.
Son takes a sweet lilie
Lies it in his father's hand,
And whispers slowly;
'I know, I know, me too dad'.
Last dad's words;
Son, I am sorry,
I never said,
But I......
poem by JeanFrancois Denis
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