Layers And Layers
we meet i only have one layer
we talk and i added another layer
we discuss and i added more layers
we dive to a certain depth and of course
i have to add more and more layers
so i may not drown
so i may not be too vulnerable to pressure
and when we come out of the water
our faces surfacing you do not recognize me anymore
i have layers and layers of myself
that even me
i cannot anymore recognize
the violence within
this turbulence of the self
this storm inside us
this layers and layers of selves
covering the truth
how can i ever uncover
what my depths cover from time to time
when you utter my name?
when you tell me that
i am myself.
there is no self.
There is no us.
There is no future.
I have only the past
and My now
Like a fruit basket
all naked on top of your table.
Just take one
The apple perhaps.
And fill yourself.
For the moment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Take A Pick For The Moment
we meet i only have one layer
we talk and i added another layer
we discuss and i added more layers
we dive to a certain depth and of course
i have to add more and more layers
so i may not drown
so i may not be too vulnerable to pressure
and when we come out of the water
our faces surfacing you do not recognize me anymore
i have layers and layers of myself
that even me
i cannot anymore recognize
the violence within
this turbulence of the self
this storm inside us
this layers and layers of selves
covering the truth
how can i ever uncover
what my depths cover from time to time
when you utter my name?
when you tell me that
i am myself.
there is no self.
There is no us.
There is no future.
I have only the past
and My now
Like a fruit basket
all fresh on top of your table.
Just take one
The apple perhaps.
And fill yourself.
For the moment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Layers
You must consider that everything is layered
The earth has layers of air, water, soil, rock, fire to its
Core
Molten fire
A fruit has layers of an external cover
Something hard, then soft and a
Sometimes a hollow core
A cake has layers too of sugar coating
Moist cake
And chocolate
End layer
My body has layers of skin
Tissue, flesh, bone
And nerves and
Marrow
The core can be hollow
And the mind
The soul has layers of understanding
Layers and layers of consciousness
To sub consciousness
Ego superego
To a layer
Beyond our grasp
Tips of the tongues
Slippages
Déjà vu
Memory gaps
Did we meet somewhere?
Do I remember you?
These sorts of some things
That happen which we know we can explain yet we can’t
Something somewhere
Could be
What if
Was I there somewhere sometime?
She somehow touches me and I feel it
I don’t really remember when
That smile that you wear was the same smile I saw somewhere
Foggy places, opaque faces, vague bodies hugging us in dreams
Murky rivers bathing us hazy rains lazily sizing Zen in showers
Some windows in some house
Remaining close
My heart is light and it is flying like a little light bird on its first wing
There is always a sense of awe and wonder to everything that I do here
An onion peeling, layer by layer, tear by tear
Here. I am. Here I am becoming unfolding to another beginning
No entries and no exits
Off limits, nothing yet allowed.
Meanwhile I am breathing, smelling something somewhere.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So many layers
every poem
i wrote
a part of me
taken off
a butterfly
leaving behind
its larvae
to take on wings
and colours
to explore the world
to give world
another layer
to fascinate over
van gogh
that shed
so many layers
to bring out
those layers
on his canvas
to our hearts
layers of pains,
tears, and......
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Island Fever
Island fever
I think Ive got a touch of island fever
I do believe I feel a bit sauteed
This morning I was just some nonbeliever
Tonight I feel Ive joing a wild crusade
I never thought of life as being breezy
I never thought of time as time to play
I never thought that I could take it easy
But all those feelings changed for me today
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Are finding their way to my brain
Layers and layers of costumes and players
That make my whole life look insane
Palm trees and views I cant believe
Why would I ever want to leave?
I think Ill take my shoes off and go walking
Down beside the caribbean sea.
I like the funny sounds of parrots squawking
I think I hear a hammock calling me.
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Could this be some kind of charade?
Layers and layers of costumes and players
I think I will join the parade
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Could this be some kind of charade?
Layers and layers of costumes and players
I think I will join the parade
I think Ive got a touch of island fever...
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Layers
Above are layers of atmosphere, stratosphere,
Below layers of topsoil, rock and clay,
People in layers rich and poor,
Cities built on top of cities, on top of cities.
Layers of thought conscious to unconscious,
Felt in layers asleep to awake,
In a dream of a dream, of a dream in a dream,
In a dream of a dream, in a dream.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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Layers Of Wet Paint Applied
wet on wet paint on paint
layers of wet paint applied
to previous layered layers
technique requires rapid working
fevered fast compulsive genius painting
art in realms born in new mind expressions
art in realms born in space time multiversity visions
art work fever finished before first layers have dried
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Being Conscintious
Am I an ant? A bird? Or a torment of hunt
Promiscuous in nature lackadaisical in form
Casting aside a rueful tale of melancholy
Replete with gnormous pressure of norm
Layers after layers in my persona degenerated
Jolted by the twist of predetermined storm
No way to escape no way to cast-asunder
poem by Hafiz Qasim
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Either/or
either you go
and run free like
a child bathing
naked under the rain
or you wear all your
underwears
and coats and masks
and you hide inside
your room and lock
all your windows
and doors
and disconnect
the electric current
from your doorbell
these are layers and
layers of choices
but whatever that is
that you pick from the rest
that is still poetry to me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The older the layers, the more each of them is uniform over a great extent; the newer the layers, the more they are limited and subject to variation within small distances.
quote by George Cuvier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seven Layers of Heaven
touch,
sight,
taste,
hear,
smell
....
....
seven layers
of heaven
set in me
two more
layers
lost in
myself
clouded
in the views
cast by the world
heaven
comes in
seven
layers
so say hindus,
chinese,
buddhists,
even the muslims
and hell?
between
all
the senses
the heart
that torments
the doers
for
his misdeeds
the fugitive
who manages
to run away from
everybody
but not
the burning hell
of conscience
that pokes
at his top
making him bleed
at the heart
day and night
hell and heaven
bound in this
frame of
heart, soul
and mind
a living hell?
the heaven
in seven layers
the other two layers?
sixth sense?
seventh sense?
two puzzles
that wait
for an answer
hidden
in the realms
that circle
around me
i look into the sky
and journey
to the
eternal sphere
that joins me
to the moons, stars
try taking me
out of this world
and it sure looks different
feel different
a whole new world
the seventh sense
seventh heaven
the sixth?
the woman
who digs
deep into
layers of her own mind
to find the dates
of her own death
and exciting upcoming events
of the world, the tsunami
third world war,
end of the world
a nostradamus
a hell in between all these?
the scorn
from bigots
two layers
of heaven that got lost
in me
covered by
the clouds
five is perhaps
a more lucky number
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Those layered Cakes
yesterday i passed by
my childhood stall by the road;
what an experience it was!
that woman in her 30s i used to see,
now only her creased forehead and face
to add another dimension between us.
how sweet her layered little squarish
suntan cakes still tasted;
those layers that i peeled off
piece by piece to savour their charms.
and as i peeled the women gave me
that more mature and
deeply heartstirring smile
that tore through the distance
between us as if each layer i had peeled carried a story of her own life.
those years of experiences
now seen in phases,
like the layers of her cake.
the child in me leapt up again.
i left behind what
have separated us
to present the innocent smile
we used to give each other.
momentarily we lived
those days when i was a child
and she a young woman.
those childhood years
when we saw people as what they were.
those childhood years
when our smiles, love
were a fountain spring of ourselves
until the days when growing up
added different shades
of feelings and thoughts
to our relationships.
i hate the layer
those creases and wrinkles
laid in me.
i prefer to see them
as a child
where she would probably be
the wise woman in some cartoon film.
how those cakes would never
be the same again.
how i loved those pink and white layers,
the pink and white that had always
carried a fairy tale behind them.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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For Miroslava Odalovic Who Delights In Layers
layers stratum varied build geography squeezed life
always deposited on past possibilities future growth
fine veins rich veins sand layers hour glass growth
poem by Terence George Craddock
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It's the texture of New York that people miss by filming elsewhere. There are layers and layers of character - even in the pavement - that you can't get anywhere else. And the speed that the people move. It's so different from other places.
quote by Richard Benjamin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth Resides Not In The World But With God
Insight beyond opinion
facts knowledge true
or false is revealed time
corrective realities
or direct or indirect
revelation from God?
Where is truth?
Truth resides
not in the world
but with God.
Only God knows
ultimate truth
reveals truth
stripping away
plywood mask
multiple layers
thin layers
compressed
glued together
at right angles
are laid layers
stage props
falsehoods
stripped away
world shadows
only time when
as divine God
sees deems fit.
None have absolute
insight into truth
beyond plans
falsehoods
manipulations
of plywood present
world system
of greed of state
government
global manipulation
of facts truth
except when God
reveals such truth
to any omnipotent
omnipresent
omnibenevolent
omniscient God
may choose.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Not a Cage, But Stage, Where Hell or Heaven Is Built!
Each Soul is divine,
Divine journey of divine spark,
That journey as per divine plan!
Your children are not your children,
They are guests visiting you,
As scheduled by divine hands,
They are here with their own destiny and fate,
who is able to state, When who is at what state?
Your friends and relatives too,
Are on their journey own,
Remember the love and affection shown!
Love and understanding
are in the heart of those here rejoice,
Concentric spheres that look solid,
Just like Onions with layer after layer,
Nothing found when peeled,
But, Everything when properly lived!
Solid looking spheres are not solids,
They are energy layers,
waves of different pattern and kinds,
Ah! Look they are of different layers,
Matter that matters us,
is not the matter,
It is energy layers,
May be children or kiths and kins,
What we look is that
How we look,
How we look is what we are!
Our house is not our house until we own,
Our body is not ours,
Our mind is not our own,
Our soul is not ours,
Until we own and master it!
Our goal is not our goal,
Goalless we can't live,
Only goal we find here is peaceful coexistence,
peaceful exit from this Life's cage,
It is not the cage but the stage on which,
Hell or heaven built or felt!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Looking Back To The Mountains Strong
when things go wrong
we struggle with so much
silence
sometimes a whistle can make
a good pretension
a slight tap on the back
a hug can make a good compliment
with us
there must be more to this struggle in silence
the years have been adding up
like layers of soil upon a hill
we dig into all these layers
to find roots
they are not dead yet
the trees may have no leaves and
all the twigs may have dried up
and when you cut it
each shall give up its hollowness
too easily in a snap of your finger
the layers are pictures of what we are
what kindness we extended to our shortcomings
we look back to see mountains still strong with their peaks
we look forward to the endless horizon of the seas
there are two suns now
you and I.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thirteen
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Faces and layers of faces
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weather-esque
Wind gusted and
Snow fell.
Flakes blew about this way and that,
Creating a semi-transparent veil of
Frozen precipitation.
Legs trudged through hip-high drifts
While hardened snow crunched underfoot.
Mitten-covered hands clench a hardwood staff
That digs through the layers of snow and
Impales the half-frozen ice underneath.
The wind blows north to south,
Straight into my face.
Two t-shirts, three long sleeves,
A sweater, a jacket, a hooded sweatshirt,
A big puffy coat lined with fur,
A hat and earmuffs,
Two layers of mittens and four layers of socks
With fur-lined, water-proof boots,
Along with two scarves,
And still the wind feels like
Knives are stabbing into my bare skin,
As if my very soul were bared to the tempest.
It howls down from the north into the valley,
Roaring past my ears,
Moving so hard and so fast it’s as if
It’s fleeing from some terrible beast.
The snow flashes brilliantly in the
Dim sunlight,
Blinding me no matter where I look,
Even when my face is down to protect it from the wind.
Layer upon layer gather atop the already
Icy ground—wet snow and fluffy snow,
Icy snow and more wet snow and some more
Fluffy snow again.
Trying to walk through it is like
Trekking through some viscous liquid,
Caramel, perhaps,
Especially going uphill.
Mountains hem in the valley
Like monstrous stone colossi
Gazing over some long-forgotten land.
Their peaks are lost within the white
Storm. What can be seen of the mountains
Are just flinty bases encased in layers of snow.
I finally reach the crest of the hill.
Below me is spread a vast expanse of white.
No details can be made out except for the
Never-ending range of mountains and snow.
Well, here it goes, I think and
Begin to make my descent.
Petroleum for the Mind
sometimes, i feel getting to your poetic self
is like prospecting for petroleum?
you dig through layers and layers of years
before you could get to the subtle aspects
of your pscyhe, where you either find black
gold or just echoes of disappointments
the morass of black, if you work hard enough
can be refined to run minds like posh cars on the streets
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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