Life, senseless, short of meaning...
it is senseless,
that is true, you exclaim
life is senseless
you write it on the board
pure existentialist leaning
an afternoon
without tea
sunshine beneath a storm,
guitars behaving
as accordions but more of
the piano,
this is the house
and there is this door
you permanently close it and then you keep on going and going
to places where there are no more houses
no doors,
this is your heart
your home
this is your hand
your feet,
your eyes, some tears, some scars,
blood dripping
earth sipping
you like another cup of cold
coffee....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life Is As Simple And Enjoyable As Sipping Coffee Early Morning And Enjoying The Scenery Of A Rustic Place
alright,
we simplify this
it is early morning
they have not awakened yet
the house is very peaceful
the windows are closed still
and the doors too
alright
stand, walk towards the window
open all of them
let the cold air come in
then walk towards the door
unlock it
and open it too and then
let the cold air
come in
you want coffee?
go to the kitchen
take a spoon a cup and saucer and
take sugar and coffee and
hot water
you know what to do, right?
feel at home
this is your home
now take your time
sit on a chair
face the trees
stir your coffee
feel it hot
and then sip
enjoy, savor the scenery of
this rustic place
feel the wind on your cheeks
take the warm side of the cup
alright,
is not life as simple as this?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Arienette
The fragile keep secrets
Gathered in pockets
And they will sell them for nothing
A cheap watch or locket
That kind of gold washes off
And the sad act like lepers
They stick to the shadows
They long to ring bells of warning
To tell of their coming
So that the pure can shut their doors
The angry are animals Senseless and savage
They act without order
In logical lapses
They stain their mouths with blood
So take my hand
This barren land is alive tonight
Oh
song performed by by Bright Eyes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Is Where The Heart Is
(gary rossington -- johnny vanzant -- hughie thomasson -- rickey medlocke)
Ive always lived my life like a gypsy
I cant imagine myself settlin down
So please dont ask me to give up this life I lead
cause I love to feel those wheels go round and round
(chorus)
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees, not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home with you
Theres a cold wind blowin and you know its almost midnight
You never dreamed it would be this hard lovin a music man
But this iron horse on which I ride Im closer its true
And its just as hard for me as it is for you
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home with you
In my life Im always on the run
Livin one day at a time
Hold on a little longer
I dont know where Im gonna end up
Or where Ill go
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home ...
I can see it inside
Its my heart that sees not my eyes
And if you listen close Ill tell you why
Home is where the heart is
And my heart is at home with you
Home is where the heart is
Oh ,my home is where my heart is
Oh, my home is where my heart is
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River and the Hill
And they shook their sweetness out in their sleep
On the brink of that beautiful stream,
But it wandered along with a wearisome song
Like a lover that walks in a dream:
So the roses blew
When the winds went through,
In the moonlight so white and still;
But the river it beat
All night at the feet
Of a cold and flinty hill -
Of a hard and senseless hill!
I said, "We have often showered our loves
Upon something as dry as the dust;
And the faith that is crost, and the hearts that are lost -
Oh! how can we wittingly trust?
Like the stream which flows,
And wails as it goes.
Through the moonlight so white and still,
To beat and to beat
All night at the feet
Of a cold and flinty hill -
Of a hard and senseless hill?
"River, I stay where the sweet roses blow,
And drink of their pleasant perfumes!
Oh, why do you moan, in this wide world alone,
When so much affection here blooms?
The winds wax faint,
And the moon like a saint
Glides over the woodlands so white and still!
But you beat and you beat
All night at the feet
Of that cold and flinty hill -
Of that hard and senseless hill!"
poem by Henry Kendall
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My Sunshine!
Sunshine, come out.
Sunshine, don't hide.
Sunshine, never pout.
Sunshine, be my guide.
Sunshine, love me sweet.
Sunshine, my heart is yours.
Sunshine, give me your heat.
Sunshine, open my doors.
Sunshine, take my hand.
Sunshine, don't leave me.
Sunshine, dry my sand.
My Sunshine, you'll always be.
poem by Tammie LeeAnn Thrasher
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Longtime Sunshine
Sometimes I want to pack it all up
Get on a bus and move to Vermont
Or Maine or any of those states back east
That I remember...
Sometimes I wanna go back to school
An east coast college with some history
I'd be satisfied I know in the simple things
Longtime sunshine
Longtime sunshine upon me
Sometimes I want to build a house
With a wood stove or a fire place
In the middle of the livingroom
An old piano...
Sometimes it don't seem so bad
To settle down with a good woman
Leave this lonely life behind
Forever and ever
Longtime sunshine
Longtime sunshine upon me
Longtime sunshine
Longtime sunshine upon me
Sometimes I wanna get in a car
Close my eyes and drive real fast
Keep on going 'till I get someplace
Where I can truly rest
Longtime sunshine
Longtime sunshine upon me
Longtime sunshine
Longtime sunshine upon me
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Aurora
Our thoughts go
To Aurora Colorado,
Where many a bleeding heart
Brace beneath
The awful bequeath
Of fate's cruelest dart.
Such grim felony.
A twist of irony:
Cold, senseless, tart.
Angst and fears,
And bitter tears,
Are but just a part.
T'were heroes there,
Destined to share
As angels set apart,
With a role to play
On such dark day—
All in the name of art.
poem by Walterrean Salley
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Subconciously
at the surface is a roy
could be roy something else
you face him
beneath a roy could be a jerry something
that you have met but could not fully
remember
you are determined not to be confused
and so you focus on the road that the the yellow bus is taking you
it is nothing but imagination
you are in the house
doing nothing because writing is actually nothing
beneath you is someone else and it
(a thing or something) is telling you what to write
you are not alarmed
it is nothing it is nothing but words and words are nothing
as a matter of familiarity
beneath your mind is the heart
beneath that heart are so many things
you try to enumerate names
and more names
and places
until you reach a certain marker, shades of red,
pathways of veins, flowing blood, all kept and contained
within the sound system
and then you look at your hands
beneath it
someone so lovely and beautiful
someone you desired for long
beneath you
and then you stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For All Pianos All Around The World
pi
piano
piano use
piano key
piano roll
piano wire
piano note
pianoforte
piano store
piano pedal
piano bench
piano effect
piano sound
piano string
piano mover
piano maker
piano music
piano action
piano player
piano lesson
piano design
piano course
piano soloist
piano tuning
piano recital
piano replica
piano sonata
piano rhythm
piano sample
piano teacher
piano program
piano concerto
piano repertoire
piano brand name
anno piano twenty twelve
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Once Upon A Time There Was Pleasure
when you were younger
oh, you remember the things that you've done
so much pleasure there
all over
your finger tips, your tongue,
your feet
pleasures reside in every mouth
lips
the giggle of the lone navel
the electricity in your
hair tips
the curve on the nape
the secrets of the thighs
you smile
over such memories
when you are alone
sipping coffee
one afternoon
upon a very cold day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As A Matter Of Sustenance
as a matter of survival
the last bite of the chocolate
tongue need not be
delicious to the tongue.
you let it roll inside your
mouth, let the tongue relish
it a bit, till it melts there.
this is senselessly
numbing, such sweet
taste of life, and then
this emptiness of the
mouth, needing a fill
for a glassful of water.
this is senseless,
there is no more meaning
for the filling up and the
emptying, except the hands
that keep on running and
running meaningfully on
the keys, listening merely
to the sound of words,
and nothing more, there
is this senseless search
for an understanding this
logicality, this madness
for reason, the heart aches
in shame, unable to accept
the ease of an explanation.
let it be, let the eyes shed
tears, let the flesh tremble,
till darkness comes, till the
silence of the stars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Senseless?
senselessly
make sense by being senseless at times
we all need that
to realize we are not what we are after all
we too are what we are for what we are not
senseless and
numb
senselessly why worry about sense at all?
bipolarity
flesh and spirit
mind and matter
brain and brass
don't you worry
take some beer and smoke
watch what happens to the world
in conflagration
of senseless thoughts
loafing is the work of another genius
when the mind simply drifts like a butterfly
on a windless day
shopping for petals in the garden
of no-man's land
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Last Prayer
MASTER of life, the day is done;
My sun of life is sinking low;
I watch the hours slip one by one
And hark the night-wind and the snow.
And must Thou shut the morning out,
And dim the eye that loved to see;
Silence the melody and rout,
And seal the joys of earth for me?
And must Thou banish all the hope,
The large horizon's eagle-swim,
The splendour of the far-off slope
That ran about the world's great rim,
That rose with morning's crimson rays
And grew to noonday's gloried dome,
Melting to even's purple haze
When all the hopes of earth went home?
Yea, Master of this ruined house,
The mortgage closed, outruns the lease;
Long since is hushed the gay carouse,
And now the windowed lights must cease.
The doors all barred, the shutters up,
Dismantled, empty, wall and floor,
And now for one grim eve to sup
With Death, the bailiff, at the door.
Yea, I will take the gloomward road
Where fast the Arctic nights set in,
To reach the bourne of that abode
Which Thou hast kept for all my kin.
And all life's splendid joys forego,
Walled in with night and senseless stone,
If at the last my heart might know
Through all the dark one joy alone.
Yea, Thou mayst quench the latest spark
Of life's weird day's expectancy,
Roll down the thunders of the dark
And close the light of life for me;
Melt all the splendid blue above
And let these magic wonders die,
If Thou wilt only leave me, Love,
And Love's heart-brother, Memory.
Though all the hopes of every race
Crumbled in one red crucible,
And melted, mingled into space,
Yet, Master, Thou wert merciful.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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There Is No One There
in trying to forget he escapes from the house of pain
time teaches him about doors that he needs to enter
time leads him to the doors of pleasures and one door
leads to another,
different lights and warmth and glitter
different scents and dance steps of love
lust as he must say
later in his life,
some names and places
soon he is undressed and he sees his body and face in the mirror
his hollow eyes
his thirsting heart
his emaciated soul radiating the inner glow of what is about to be lost
completely
he takes the exit and turns back
to the familiar places of this heart
under the tree the bark where two names are written
a heart carved, an arrow piercing
there is no one there
there is no bird singing anymore
the clouds drift and then go away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Conversation
Look at me.
Don’t talk back.
My heart cannot speak-
My eyes can feel
Do not threaten-
You are all I have-
The skies are screaming outside-
In this instant, I hear my name called,
Talk to me with your words, misconstrued,
As threatening as
A winter storm from hell,
Listen:
I hear you- and I know
You can hear me too-
Your words are senseless, though at times
Comforting,
Warm,
Scintillating,
As a soul afire –
Quiet as a cat tiptoeing upon a cloud or
A symphony of drumsticks, muffled, or a
Single snowflake falling without rhythm upon a
Field of dandelions-
Outside,
The sky is calling me-
I do not hear,
Only your words, can I hear?
Every day and night we meet in this room,
Dark as fear, or light as a ray of agonizing and heated…
Fury?
My eyes can feel pain but
My heart cannot speak or feel-
My ears are deafened to the words of the people
Who intimidate,
Menace,
Wish to harm me?
I can hear the voices of people talking,
Conversing about me,
Those, whom I cannot see,
Although my eyes can feel the pain,
My heart won’t speak as
It cannot feel-
Speak to me
Your senseless words,
Do not look at me,
Your eyes could be daggers of death and ill fated-
Outside, the sky is calling-
Snow is falling
Flake by flake,
I cannot see, although
If my heart could speak, it would say
“I love you”
I feel safe with you-
You are not real, and
Your senseless words are a symphony,
Your garbled messages are poetry,
Do not take them back,
They warm my heart,
Though it cannot speak-
The sky is calling,
Calling?
Me?
I am terrified,
Please help me-
Your chaotic words are overpowering,
Frighteningly beautiful, and almost threatening –
Although safe because
You are not real, and that is the reason
I love you …
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Senseless Death
Death is blind
Death is deaf
yet it is dumb
Death is senseless
Absolutely at that
So much so
To the kings door
It knocks upon
From a mother's womb
It feeds thereof
If death had a way
Heavens gate it will shake
The chains of hell
It will break
Searching a new soul to take
Senseless
As death may seem
Upon every soul
Still it sneaks
Taking from any
As it wills.
poem by Emeka chunye Okaforudeji
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If You Wait For Better Metaphors
let go that patience
waiting for a load of metaphors
to make your poem
for today, you end up poor
with no poem to share,
are you conscious about what the lords, the gods, will say?
about your creations?
the beauty that you must exude to please these lords, these gods?
they, who left you here, they who do not feed you
crumbs, left-overs,
they, who live in the clouds, who feast among themselves
and look down upon you
as mediocre crab
running to catch the ebb and
tide of the sea,
you write, because you do not rhyme
because you cannot count
the beat of your aching heart
you write, because your mind is blank
blacked-out,
look at you,
you do not look like any human being at all?
you fear
losing your poetic sense?
damn, write, do not pray for metaphors
do not crack your head for images,
do not pray for the gods and lords
they too have problems of their own
mindless,
senseless,
quarelling among themselves on some crowded skies,
your stay is short
there is no specific duration of your stay
write and write, let them have their own shame
life has no rhyme
in fact, senseless,
why pretend you rhyme? why pretend you make sense at all?
you are never god in the first place,
you are the quiver of this universe, the hum that numbs
why bother?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Senseless
Clouds of blue
And skies of white;
The moon by day
The sun by night;
Contradictions in thought and word
So much mental confusion, as
Voices speak, unheard.
'There's a purpose and a plan'
- so some say -
Though hard to perceive in the modern age;
Earth can be a madhouse
We're all quite insane,
Each running amuck
Shouting his or her own name,
So many want to be #1
In the world's eyes,
Foolishly blundering in and out of
Endless empty lies.
Where shall it all end
Where will it stop,
At the drug store
Or the corner doughnut shop?
Anyway we cover the pain
It still will not die,
No matter how hard
Or what any of us try.
It'll all continue to unravel
Right up to the moment
In sudden silence we find,
Alone,
We've run out of arrogance
We've run out of time.
All the lies told
All the souls so cheaply sold,
Won't be worth a damn
Compared to an honest, humble woman or man.
Lying in the grave
What will we do
With all the money we've made.......
Buy a fancy casket
To hide in the ground,
Hoping somehow
To never be found?
It's all so senseless
This self-centeredness,
There has got to be a bigger plan
A true purpose, a real reason for man.
What has happened
To the memory of
The meek shall inherit the earth,
What has become
Of the gift of humility
Given to each at birth?
I'm a little confused
A little bit down'
Not sure of what I see
All about, and all around:
If God is to be trusted,
Why do we so often beg for money;
If everything is so damn serious
Why does it all seem so funny?
-Sometimes, I'd like to just go to sleep.
Not wake for twenty years.
Come out the other side
Far, far away from all my doubts, all my fears.
There to enjoy life
Have some true, pure fun,
Walk away from the clouds of gloom,
Go dance and play with so many others
In the happy, refreshing sun.
I'd sure like to tell all this to someone
(who cares, and understands)
Without hearing, ' stop dreaming - be realistic ';
And God knows
I certainly don't want to die,
Being merely another meaningless, empty statistic.
For, I don't believe
I'm the only one who feels
We were not created just to endlessly work,
Blindly driving others
And ourselves
Deeper and deeper into the hurt.
Why do people stop laughing,
Even stop smiling?
- Perhaps they've stopped searching,
And stopped trying.
We're called to dance in that sun
We're called to share, laugh and play,
For this there has to be a time
There has to be a way.
Rushing ever ahead of life is senseless.
It is not life's meaning, nor life's reason.
Only the pace of Love is eternity.
And increasing joy its season.
Life is not at all senseless.......
- If only we'd look beyond our own clutching hand,
We may just find God,
And thereby, come to understand:
There is so much more than drudgery and fear to life,
More than what we can simply see...
With no need so often to act like slaves,
For after all, we know, by grace, we truly are free.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Situationer...
when he begins to write
the words
of course, he has in mind someone in particular
for it makes him
more particular too in the choice of
images, like
something so fragile like the last egg
in your hand
or something so beautiful like what you
are not
somethings need not be mentioned
and it will be
peaceful
the moment you say what you have in mind
three dragon heads spring from your neck
so it is better to be cautious
like saying something that we do not like to say really
something like
how i wish to be like you
and you who hears it knows what is true
and you make a rebounding
yes, i like you too and then after the brief moment
sipping coffee and reading the news and looking at on striking passerby
you then part ways
clinching hug, cold kiss.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cup of mocha
You never liked
the taste of mocha
You said it was
coffee laced
with chocolate lies
I always loved it
when the chocolate
masked the coffee
Just enough, and
let it linger nice
A lie coated truth
But, truth nevertheless...
The warm cup of mocha
Stands and grows cold
outside in
Dreams, forgotten,
lie dormant
new, old within
I stretch over the table
as across continents
To hold your hands,
to cup some warmth into;
a coffee grown cold,
a life grown old
We always shared
the mocha
you sipping
seeking the coffee
While I taste
the chocolate,
wait with the coffee
We stare athwart
Our love’s passion,
no longer an obsession
It retains within us ties,
Coffee mingled with chocolate lies
You always said
“Serve me poison,
with a smile,
I will drink it too.
Please, don’t lace it
with chocolate as with
coffee you do.”
You never liked
the taste of mocha
Yet, you always
drink it with me
As you sip,
your eyes crinkle
and I smile too, with you...
poem by O. Sudhir Janardhanan
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