In The Pursuit Of Art Every Morning...
on aching eyes
and osteopathic backbone
one must keep the
art of
writing, because that is what is art all about,
talking about
self-denial, the mastery of the
perfect art of
restraints, how to place your hands on
your chest and feel
the rhythms of that
isolated and well protected
flesh and bone
covered
heart, everything is there anyway
like bread and butter and
rice and fish
on that white painted breakfast
table, with the matching hot cup of
coffee and
table napkin, sky blue, and
silver wares, like the river passing
through an arc bridge
in that Chinese painting hanging on
your gray wall,
well,
your hands are somewhat
Olympic runners
taking pride that the fingers within
their hold
can write well even
though blinded by too much light
drivers without headlights
reckless and
wild and free like lovers always
having inklings to
change partners
till the next sperm
whale that comes
diving flatly on the Indian ocean
breaking glaciers
melting ice
flooding the world of
concupiscence
somewhere beyond the
grasp of my fingernails
much different than last nights
grips on that
smooth back of the geisha
is the thick and black
skin
of elephantine shame
but,
who cares? you don't.
and i too,
don't.
this, i must make clear,
but i know,
all these seeds fall on
rocks of salt, where not a
messy moss ever think
to stick.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Breakfast That We Cannot Eat Together
this is the breakfast that we cannot eat together a fish fried in an oil
with so much heat, like ' who cares? ' a rice not well cooked which says ' it is the maid again! ' a coffee which has gone cold which says ' you come late again! ' a egg which is not sunny side up a ham that does not roll a dirty table with an unwashed table cloth which says 'change it yourself! '
how can i eat all these?
i am late for the office and i have to go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shell
Look at me Im smooth like a shell,
Put your head down
You can hear the ocean.
Hold my body - feel it roll,
So much inside and its all been broken.
You know its just one step out it could all be over,
You know this could rip us out at the seams.
Im falling; its all in your hands,
Dont let it wash away.
Im aching; dont take it all away,
Breaking the shell again.
Look at me Im out on the edge,
Put your hand here
See Im bleeding.
I cant get it, get the light out
I cant seem to tear out the feeling.
You know its just one step out it could all be over,
You know this could rip us out at the seams.
Im falling; its all in your hands,
Dont let it wash away.
Im aching; dont take it all away,
Breaking the shell again.
I am a box, I am a fish, I am a trail, I keep you warm,
And I remember stripping down to meet the water,
Wading out to where the sky turns under,
My insides smooth like a shell,
Like a shell...
You know this could rip us out at the seams.
Im falling; its all in your hands,
Dont let it wash away.
Im aching; dont take it all away,
Breaking the shell again.
Im falling; its all in your hands,
Dont let it wash away.
Im aching; dont take it all away,
Breaking the shell again.
Look at me Im smooth like a shell,
Put your head in
Hear the ocean, roll
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orlando's Cafe
I sit alone on a black painted chair
putting my elbow on the black painted table
fronting a gray painting of a man
gathering rice
a Romano,
i wait
i close my eyes
to a cat nap
i hear the conversations
but i am not interested
of people on the other table
i imagine two lovers, a fat woman and
a skinny man
sharing spaghetti and coke
while a mother with a white skin
feeds a small slice of pizza
to her English speaking girl
who keeps on saying
that she changed her mind
into not eating another piece
of that Hawaiian menu,
the fat woman looks at me
wanting to tell me
why i am lonely
as though
when one sits and eats alone
signifies nothing
but loneliness
i could have told her
it is not the case
that i in turn suspects that
the skinny man
perhaps is the loneliest
man
sitting watching a
fat and unattractive woman
before him
at Orlando's Cafe....
surprisingly i realize
i have become a man of few words
actually
i am too mindful of myself then
conscious
that throughout that time
i never uttered
a word
it is my mind that does the talking
as though
everyone who are there
are all the more lonely
as i try to capture
them all
within the framework
of some
consonants...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stick Up
Let's go
I've been loving you for years
I know that I was never clear
But I have no fear today
Cause I'm gonna say
What I gotta say
I don't wanna play no more
I'm busting through the door
I'm gonna take your heart for sure
Put your hands up in the air
It's a stick up
I'm go'n take your heart from here
Now let's fix up
Put your hands in the air, in the air, in the air
I'm gonna play my cards from here
and take this gamble
sure, my words are gonna fumble
but this being hard and humble
Ain't got me nowhere
Sure I'm scared but my life's a dare
And baby you just got so much flare
We'd be the perfect pair
I'm gonna share my mind with you
You've been blind and my life's blue
I'm taking you, I'm taking you
Put your hands up in the air
It's a stick up
I'm go'n take your heart from here
Now let's fix up
Put your hands in the air, in the air, in the air
Put your hands up in the air
It's a stick up
I'm gone take your heart from here
Now let's fix up
Put your hands in the air, in the air, in the air
In the air, in the air, in the air
When I first met you, I wanted to wet you
Not a gun, but a different content sexual
You try to run I still get you
Steel metal, not needed
A whole nother meaning
Don't want your gold, want your soul
Control ya heartbeating
Cause when I start squeezing that muscle
That's the trigger then I got you nigga
In your drop with spinners
Got your bodyguards with you
Diamond dog tag chain swinging
I have them thangs ringing
This is a robbery, and no one's getting free
Til that man, he comes with me
This is a robbery, and no one's getting free
Til that man he comes with me
Put your hands up in the air
It's a stick up
I'm go'n take your heart from here
Now let's fix up
Put your hands in the air, in the air, in the air
In the air, in the air, in the air
Put your hands up in the air
It's a stick up
I'm a take your heart from here
Now let's fix up
Put your hands in the air
Put your hands in the air
Put your hands....
song performed by by Kelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To A Strict Lifestyle Of The Past
'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God
all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair
i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears
i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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438
To Choose Between A
Hot Breakfast Ready On The Table
And Finishing Another Poem
I Choose The Breakfast
Together With My Wife
This Poem Can Be Suspended
In Time
And Become Another Unfinished
Act Of Creation
By A Man Wanting To Fill This
World With Poems
After A While
When I Have My Fill And When
I Make Some Nice Conversations With My Wife
And My Dog Beside The Table
Looking At Me
For A Piece Of Fried Pork
When The Sipping Of Coffee Is Over
When I Finally Wipe My
Chin With The Sky Blue Napkin
When I Consider
Eating As Finally Over
As Promised
I Will Come Back Again
And Finish This Poem
And There Is Something
Nice In This
Act Of Creation
You Feel It
It Is Warm Like The Hand Of
A Beautiful Woman
It Is As Hot As Ever
Like This Wanton Desire
Lovely,
As Lovely As You Love Each Letter
Of The Word
Of Your Poetry
I Am Feeling It In The Bone
Of My Soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heading For The Light
Ive wandered around with nothing more than time on my hands
I was lost in the night with no sight of you
And at times it was so blue and lonely
Heading for the light
Been close to the edge, hanging by my fingernails
Ive rolled and Ive tumbled through the roses and the thorns
And I couldnt see the sign that warned me, im
Heading for the light
(bridge 1)
Ooh - I didnt see that big black cloud hanging over me
And when the rain came down I was nearly drowned
I didnt know the mess I was in
My shoes are wearing out from walking down this same highway
I dont see nothing new but I feel a lot of change
And I get the strangest feeling, as im
Heading for the light
(bridge 2)
Ooh - my hands were tired
Jokers and fools on either side
But still I kept on till the worst had gone
Now I see the hole I was in
My shoes are wearing out from walking down this same highway
I dont see nothing new but I feel a lot of change
And I get the strangest feeling, as im
Heading for the light
I see the sun ahead, I aint never looking back
All the dreams are coming true as I think of you
Now theres nothing in the way to stop me
Heading for the light
Now theres nothing in the way to stop me
Heading for the light
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breakfast Is Ready
(7: 45 in the morning)
to choose between a
hot breakfast ready on the table
and finishing another poem
i choose the breakfast
together with my wife
this poem can be suspended
in time
and become another unfinished
act of creation
by a man wanting to fill this
world with poems
after a while
when i have my fill and when
i make some nice conversations with my wife
and my dog beside the table
looking at me
for a piece of fried pork
when the sipping of coffee is over
when i finally wipe my
chin with the sky blue napkin
when i consider
eating as finally over
as promised
i will come back again
and finish this poem
and there is something
nice in this
act of creation
you feel it
it is warm like the hand of
a beautiful woman
it is as hot as ever
like this wanton desire
lovely,
as lovely as you love each letter
of the word
of your poetry
i am feeling it in the bone
of my soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Primary And Secondary
bread and butter thing
water and white rice on the table
eggs and vegetables
spread on the covered table
these are the primaries of life
poetry is at nighttime
reading aloud
composing some more
analyzing other poets' works
telling to yourself
this smacks the senses
this strikes the core of my being
this will not make me sleep again
invigorating
worth the lost salt of myself
not looking back
moving on
sailing on the boat in the middle
of such storm
seeking peace
sleeping alone and dreaming
these are the secondaries of existence
tomorrow can be
incompetent
today is the most evident
the past is duly taken
notice
the void comes
and then to its wings i take my daily ride.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cool Water
Day by day ... whistle while you work ... our
Backs are breaking ... up from hollow earth ...
From end to end ... the noise begins ... in the
Human battle stations ... and the big ones
Coming in
Work, work, work, work ... work till holes are
Filled ... work, work, work, work ... bags of
Bone and skin ... lovers hold hands ... tossing
Their heads ... tangled in hair ... tied to earth
... with skin and glue
But their skin is the same as yours
Coming in for the world to see
They can sit at the table, too
The same blood as you and me
Speak very softly .. hold my hand ... someone is
Sleeping ... in my bed ... priests pass by ...
Worms crawl in ... one dreams to be ... one dream
For all
His skin is the same as yours
Is he not made the same as you?
And some have fallen down
And blood spilled on the ground
Work, work,work
Till his life is doneu
The old man .. is at our door ... and hes
Knocking ... knocking ... as his neighbors weep
... each day repeats ... are we nothing in your
Eyes? ... someone answer, someone answer ... this
Rusted garden gate ... can barely even stand ...
Their work is over now ... and rest will be at
Hand
Is their skin not the same as yours?
Can they sit at the table to drink
Cool water
Cool wateru
And his lungs are filled with rain...
And the waters rushing in...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music I Heard
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
—They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Aching Eyes And Neck Pains
aching eyes and
back and neck pains, they do not really matter
once i face this monitor
i assume i have many things to say
after a day's work. I TAKE pride about the
matters unsaid. I take note of the words
kept hidden inside my hair.They want
to jump and assume the shape of some
fleas.BITERS. bitter biters, for they were made
to be silent as we keep on doing
our own bread and butter thing
my eyes are aching. I feel the pain on my neck.
there is this burden, and this burden is the burden
of a writer, a poet, and it keeps on saying
write me, write me now: about a girl whose
father betrayed her, about a man whose fortune
is stolen in the blink of an eye
he died.she was thrown in the river
and the fish ate her in tiny pieces.
there is this little boy who imitated my actions
and he was laughing and i was laughing too,
i never thought that my hands are as clumsy as his
or his words too disappointing
the world is telling me: it is enough
too much of you is already suffocating
it is telling me that i must quit
but how can i? there is this little boy that keeps
on taunting me
to play again along the sands of the shore
and make my new sandcastles
it is not too dark yet, and he says it is still time
there is still time to play....
i get out of the car. It is raining. I look at the sky.
Drink some rain. I get wet.
It is not enough. It is never enough. There is still this little boy
in me. His eyes are always in wonder.
and so the poems keep on coming.
I close the car. I look at the trees.
How green are these trees! Greener than green.
How blue are the clouds! Bluer than blue.
And i really like all that i see.
This little child in me. Giggling.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lovers On A Beach
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Lovers on a beach
Lovers on a beach
Two naked hands lay on the sand
When all the world was out of reach
Through the shuttered doors
The music filtered through
Playing on a theme that couldnt run
Lovers on a shore
Lovers on a shore
The heavy wine of broken time
But now theyre gone its nothing more
Looking back on days
When summer seemed so long
Now theres only winter nights to come
And oh - sometimes shes missing you
She hears the shore
She feels it more
And out there the waves are breaking
Back here her heart is aching
Lovers on a beach
Lovers on a beach
Two silhouettes were on a shore
But now theyre lost and out of reach
Now on lonely roads
The flashbacks lead to you
Like a faded photograph in time
Oh lovers (lovers, lovers, lovers, lovers...)
And oh just as shes missing you
She hears the shore
She feels it more
And out there the waves are breaking
Back here her heart is aching
Lovers on a beach
Lovers on a beach
Two naked hands theyre on the sand
When all the world was out of reach
Lovers on a beach
Lovers on a beach
Lovers
Lovers
Lovers on a beach
Lovers
Lovers
Lovers
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bonescraper
There is no future for us to suture
Your life ill-fated, beat down and hated
Shot in the head, walking undead
Numb to the world, around your head
Rip my skin from my bone, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Hide in the shadows, deep black, and hollow
Empty void of light cuts clean, like a knife
Damaged and torn, punctured by thorns
I've felt nothing since I was born
Rip my skins from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
My flesh <-> Your flesh
Your eyes <-> My sight
My pain <-> Your shame
We are the same ...
Rip my skin from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Rip my skin ...
song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Olympic Gold
The power the fitness of youth grips nationalistic hope
The Olympic gold only for the best with mind to cope,
Training and hard work fills the hearts to win'
To gain a place to represent and lose is no sin.
All nations hold hands in spirit to compete
Joy and flags waving with smiles, tears for defeat.
The runners, the jumpers, the swimmers and gymnasts
Thrill the world with memories that will always last,
The world of five continents together in the Olympic flag rings,
Togetherness their anthems the whole world sings.
poem by Ken e Hall
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You kill the River not the Fish
waste dump makes us numb, plant grows
made us a calm, river flows lead us to glow in
the Lilies where they want go
beautiful fish as it swim, in the fresh water
it flaps; breathing as it dances, waiting to
see the angler hook, in a beautiful sway you
are always seen
gills so shinny, bone so flexible to cook, eyes
that looks like a golden moon in the gloomy
nights you will always stay
jump, jump and jump follow the rhythms of
the stream; almost going near to the sea, where
your heart sings and leads me to be happy
as the river goes out its way, turbid where
nobody wants to fish, everyday faces wants
to tease; it’s the clear water you always dump
makes me ugly, for each waste makes me
so funny
why are you not so sensitive to my calls, where
your eyes in fact is not big as me, you’ve made
me lost, nay! the food that is sweet and plenty,
serve and give the table now is empty
look at me now, my eyes is blind in your hands;
accept that you’re not so lucky for the
river now seems not for everybody; they’re all
dead and you come to me to beg
please listen first to my flee …..
poem by Antonio Liao
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Dreams to Nightmares
I stare at the wall and close my eyes
I started to dream about parts of the world
Beaches to oceans to schools of fish
My dreams turn to nightmares after awhile
The cool, damp beach where sand comes to rest
The emptiness in the pastel blue sky
The sand placed perfectly in place
The smell of salt water against the shore
The crystal clear ocean calm as can be
The current not even moving sea life
Fish eating at the bottom by the sand
The sound of calm waves hitting the shore
The colorful fish ranging from green to blue
Fish from all different sizes
The sound of fish jumping out of the ocean
They swim without a government to follow
The beaches turn to cemeteries
The oceans turn dark gray, and fish floating dead
The sky black as can be with flashes of light
You wake up realizing life is so much different
poem by Kasondra Sytnik
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Return Back Immediately
'you've my heart pickpocket'
expect from the blue wall of moss
when thousands of forest insects down
on wedding rock season
river melting tears
she was looking for him at the park benches
she was looking for his bronze statue in the frozen
'where have you brought my heart?
don't you bake in a quiet'
the lights went out at once
shakespeare performing the poison of romeo
bat home blinded his eyes
'what you do with me? '
sat stuned in front of the table
glasses emptied
leaves mingle wind buffed
weighted open sky of lead
angel long to pick up
taxis frozen in flashing lights
'you've my heart pickpocket...
before the rain fall in the quarter
I demand it back immediately'
(2001)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Heading For The Light
Ive wandered around with nothing more than time on my hands
I was lost in the night with no sight of you
And at times it was so blue and lonely
Heading for the light
Been close to the edge, hanging by my fingernails
Ive rolled and Ive tumbled through the roses and the thorns
And I couldnt see the sign that warned me, im
Heading for the light
Ooh - I didnt see that big black cloud hanging over me
And when the rain came down I was nearly drowned
I didnt know the mess I was in
My shoes are wearing out from walking down this same highway
I dont see nothing new but I feel a lot of change
And I get the strangest feeling, as im
Heading for the light
Ooh - my hands were tired
Jokers and fools on either side
But still I kept on till the worst had gone
Now I see the hole I was in
My shoes are wearing out from walking down this same highway
I dont see nothing new but I feel a lot of change
And I get the strangest feeling, as im
Heading for the light
I see the sun ahead, I aint never looking back
All the dreams are coming true as I think of you
Now theres nothing in the way to stop me
Heading for the light
Now theres nothing in the way to stop me
Heading for the light
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Ask You
What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,
an ordinary night at the kitchen table,
floral wallpaper pressing in,
white cabinets full of glass,
the telephone silent,
a pen tilted back in my hand?
It gives me time to think
about all that is going on outside--
leaves gathering in corners,
lichen greening the high grey rocks,
while over the dunes the world sails on,
huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake.
But beyond this table
there is nothing that I need,
not even a job that would allow me to row to work,
or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4
with cracked green leather seats.
No, it's all here,
the clear ovals of a glass of water,
a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,
not to mention the odd snarling fish
in a frame on the wall,
and the way these three candles--
each a different height--
are singing in perfect harmony.
So forgive me
if I lower my head now and listen
to the short bass candle as he takes a solo
while my heart
thrums under my shirt--
frog at the edge of a pond--
and my thoughts fly off to a province
made of one enormous sky
and about a million empty branches.
poem by Billy Collins
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