Logos
the more you think so clearly
the more you become less of yourself,
this is revolutionary to our essence
as the thinking mammal
that without ideas we become trash,
a shell without flesh
a glass without water,
a house without a home,
a carriage beside the
dead horse,
a desert, vast sands, fierce sun,
mirage in abundance
no matter how hard we look
and focus
we only see dreams....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mirage
Mirage
I am just a mirage
Oh - I am just a mirage
When you look at me
Thru your crystal glass you will see
That I am now your past
But you give your love to me
In your life I wasnt meant to be.
Oh I am just a mirage
Oh I am just a mirage
Just a mirage fading away like water
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
I am just a mirage
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
I am just a mirage
I am just a mirage
But until that day has come
When you say Ill be your only one
I will live the way its meant for me
With ups and downs and mystery.
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something That Flows Away
FINALLY you tell me
you like an empty house
something minimal
all white with no curves
just straight lines
your want is small now
something that makes us close
something that shrinks
to make an intimacy
you want a house just
for the two of us
i am thinking if these thoughts
are a little bit late
my dreams are different
i am thinking of a bird-house
i am thinking of grains
i am thinking of water
something that i can leave
something that i can give
something that flows away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where does my mother live?
My mother breathed her last in a train.
Where does she hover after the death?
The carriage where she died,
The place where the carriage stood.
The house where her body was brought to.
The house where she was laid to rest,
The ground where she was cremated,
The house she was married to,
The house she was born in.
Or the home of her offspring
Where she is worshipped?
Or has she transmigrated?
I think she lives where she is remembered.
16.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Focus
focus
focus on god
focus on freedom
focus on forgiveness
focus on sweet speech
focus on treasures
focus on humility
focus on commitment
focus on mind
focus on success
focus on health
focus on healthy transformation
focus on goodness
focus on laughter
focus on fun
focus on angel
focus on sweetness
focus on wealth
focus
poem by Johnny Walks
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Young Woman
Naked before the glass she said,
“I see my body as no man has,
Nor any shall unless I wed
And naked in a stranger’s house
Stand timid beside his bed.
There is no pity in the flesh.”
“Or else I shall grow old,” she said,
“Alone, and change my likeliness
For a vile, slack shape, a head
Shriveled with thinking wickedness
Against the day I must be dead
And eaten by my crabbed wish.”
“One or the other way,” she said,
“How shall I know the difference,
When wrinkles come, to spinster or bride?
Whether to marry or burn is bless-
ed best, O stranger to my bed,
There is no pity in the flesh.”
poem by Howard Nemerov
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When you have too much month for you paycheck, then what you need to do is realize that there is abundance all around you and focus on the abundance and not your lack and as night follows day abundance will come to you.
quote by Sidney Madwed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its A Matter Of Time
(words & music by clive westlake)
Its a matter of time before I go back there
A matter of time before I go home
I have been way from her now for a long time
And Ive lived a life I thought that it should be
Its a long, long way from now to maybe sometime
And the waiting round is really killing me
Its a matter of time before I go back there
A matter of time oh lord, before I go home
Its a long way I know and the goin aint easy
Shell see me again its a matter of time
I think Ill take a train right early in the morning
Just to see how far I get along the way
But the trains dont run too often only sometimes
So I guess Id better wait another day
Its a matter of time before I go back there
A matter of time before I go home
Its a long way I know and the goin aint easy
Shell see me again, its just a matter of time
Shell see me I know its a matter of time
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Dead Whisper To The Living
When the dead whisper to the living
That they can’t go home again
The living wonder and wait and have no answer
They want to help but they cannot-
The dead whisper and whisper and whisper again
And then cry out at night in the screams of dreams of nightmares everlasting
They ask they demand
But no one ever answers them.
‘You can’t come home again’ says the cliché
And the dead know the meaning of this on their flesh
If they have any flesh left-
They want to return
They want to touch this place again
But they cannot-
How gone are we all then and will we by when we say goodbye forever
To this dear earth and small home
Which we sometimes love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Horse-Drawn Carriage Ride
Oh what fun it is to see
A carriage drawn by a horse
Still after all these years
You can find them still, of course
For in special towns you can find
A horse drawn carriage to travel in
In New Orleans for instance, folks
So very beautiful with lots of trim
But can you imagine just how
Exciting they were in their day
Perhaps a roof and maybe not
Like riding atop a trailer with hay
So many wonderful styles there were
You can see in museums and such
Fancy some of them really are
With an old-fashioned classic touch
So if you get a chance to see or ride
On a horse drawn carriage some time
Jump at the chance ‘cause you know
It’s the most exciting day you’ll find!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Beautiful Prize
The father giveth, and the father taketh away
Johanna prays in her bed
He drinks his beer to the tv chatter
Thinks dark thoughts in his head
When the house that he keeps with his hard won pay
Is finally asleep after his brutal day
He turns his eyes on his beautiful prize
Johanna watches her door open just a crack
And a hand that once held her runs down the length of her back
Her fallen angel lies down on her bed
So much confusion in her beautiful head
Johanna closes her eyes
In a house full of secrets the truth doesnt matter
Johanna buries her shame and dreams of redemption
They just scatter, she grows numb to the pain
She cant remember how it was before
And she doesnt know who she is anymore
Shes in disguise as his beautiful prize
Johanna watches her life from the outside
And she dreams that one day shell fly free from this mess
Shes a hawk trying to soar with a broken wing
And she doesnt talk anymore about anything
She just closes her eyes
She just cant stand his anger, she just cant bear his heat
She takes a long hard look at life on the street, yeah
In a house full of secrets the truth doesnt matter
And any dreams of salvation, they just shatter
Johanna watches the world from the outside,
And she dreams of the day shell fly free from this mess
She doesnt know what shes waiting for
Cause theres nothing left in this house anymore
And in his eyes shes just a beautiful prize
Oh, johanna just a beautiful prize...
Yeah, johanna...
Oh, hanna...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When We Are Left Alone In The House
just you and me
i am 48 and you will be 45 the next day
and we are left alone because they all have to be in their homes
her mother is sick and she must bring money
on the other hand, she is quitting her job and leave us for good
to join her lover in the city, her last chance to be married at 36
these domestic help helping themselves
to be not like us, loners
consumed by the weariness of our flesh
for years and years the hours filled with emptiness
i can hear the sound of the clock ticking so slowly
like the fins of an old goldfish in the glass bowl
i bought for you on the day of our marriage
today we are left alone in the house
you keep yourself busy washing the dishes
drying the laundry in the yard figuring out that you may rush again
the next minute it will rain
the cloud darkens
i keep choosing my words, thinking the idea of this union
us for 24 years, just us, just us and nobody else
in the same house, the same furnitures unbroken feet
and unstained in the living room, where the same color of
drapes are changed almost on the same months, the same seasons
boredom, too much familiarity, the wear and tear of our gazes
i call you from the kitchen, asking you to give me a glass of cold water
and you complied like the woman who loves her man more than him
loving her
i have more words to choose, more ideas to think, to trap, to keep,
to smoothen and polish like a piece of wood sculpted to the form
of a woman's beautiful body
thank you i said, i thrive on cold water, all the days of my life,
i take in the water that slides on my throat
smooth like red rhum down to my soul, i could have asked you again
if i had the courage, i ask myself if my love is strong if this will survive
us, through the boring years that come and yet to come
i did not have the courage to ask, if
you still love me
with my balding head and wrinkling skin
i got colder, i am sure, it is the water, half of the ice in the glass
is completely melted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Saw God Today.... For My Pal Smoky
I saw God today, on a mountain high,
As the wind blew through my hair.
I saw God today in the clear blue sky,
I felt small and humble there.
I saw God today, in the desert sands,
As the Joshua Trees reached for the sky.
I saw God today in the arid sands,
And heard the coyotes mournful cries.
I saw God today in the desert sun,
And in the desert willow bells.
I saw God today, just one on one,
In beautiful stones and ancient sea shells.
I saw God today and he saw me,
I could reach out and touch his face.
I saw God in that vast dry sea,
And now my soul is full of grace.
I saw God today, in the great Southwest,
God saw my heart, and I saw his.
I can't still the thunder in my chest,
You see, that's where heaven is.
4/4/12 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Bedouin
O love is like an untamed steed!--
So hot of heart and wild of speed,
And with fierce freedom so in love,
The desert is not vast enough,
With all its leagues of glimmering sands,
To pasture it! Ah, that my hands
Were more than human in their strength,
That my deft lariat at length
Might safely noose this splendid thing
That so defies all conquering!
Ho! but to see it whirl and reel--
The sands spurt forward--and to feel
The quivering tension of the thong
That throned me high, with shriek and song!
To grapple tufts of tossing mane--
To spurn it to its feet again,
And then, sans saddle, rein or bit,
To lash the mad life out of it!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Desert Island
Cast away on a desert island
Me and poor crusoe are sharing the same fate
Cast away on a desert island
With great britain written on its name plate
With my umbrella I go walking
Through all the sands on a building site
Across the shopping malls and motorways
Birds from heathrow fill the
Night with people flying to escape
Friday comforts me and says its pay day
Cast away on a desert island . . .
The game and coconuts is plentiful
You pick em right off of a supermarket shelf
And all the man-eaters are parked away
Down in garages
While their selfish owners drinking to escape
Lord of flies with cocktails in his conch shell
Dont rescue me, no
This is my home sweet home dear
Dont rescue me, no
I am far from alone here
Cast away on a desert island
Me and one nation are sharing the same fate
Cast away on a desert island
With great britain written on its name plate
Cast away on a desert island
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Boys
I am starting to function
In the usual way
Everything is so provocative
Very very, temporary
I shall walk (I shall walk)
Out of this place (out of this place)
I shall walk
Out on you
cause you go silly
If shes willing
Trying so hard to be like the big boys
So you take her to the pictures
Trying to become a fixture
Inch by inch trying to reach her
All the way through the second feature
Worrying about your physical fitness
Tell me how you got this sickness, oh ohhhh..
I was caught in the suction
By a face like a truncheon
I was down upon one knee
Stroking her vanity
I was stuck on a hammerhead
I came alive and left for dead
As my face returned to red
Choking on my pride and pity
We can talk (we can talk)
Until your face is blue (til your face is blue)
We can talk but shell get to you
After youve been loved and hated
By the ones youve watched and waited
Found that they were overrated
Shell be the one - when the partys over
Shell be the one - when the girls have gone home
Shell be the one - that youll wish youd held onto
Shell be the one - but its too late for you to
Shell be the one - who knows all your history
Shell be the one -
So you can cross her off your list
And you try so hard
And you try so hard
And you try so hard
To be like the big boys, oh.
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost legion for Friend Thad
The earth beneath the desert sun is baked to shades of brown and dun.
A sea of sand which ceaselessly moves with wind uneasily.
The land marks here are far and few but known by those belonging to the nomad bands who freely roam this sea of sand and call it home.
A people fierce and proud and free who guard their secrets ruthlessly.
Intruders are not welcome here; invaders simply disappear.
Their fate is very seldom known, the desert can protect its own
Whole Roman legions were erased their resting place cannot be traced.
The desert knows but will not speak some bones are found by those who seek
to solve the ancient mysteries. Perhaps rewrite the histories.
To validate their theories of how an army disappears.
without a clues as to their fate. A subject open to debate.
The desert sands move constantly, sometimes revealing teasingly
bleached bones and weapons on the sand which scholars strive to understand.
Does it matter anyway? Why do we seek to know today
what happened to the lost legion. Although the legend lingers on.
The desert will not satisfy our burning curiosity
The desert knows but will not share the scholars find this hard to bear.
The desert lands conceal with ease volumes of untold histories.
Which earnest scholars yearn to read, perhaps one day they will succeed.
But until then the burning sun will bake the earth to brown and dun
Maintaining its long secrecy in brooding silent dignity.
30-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Effects of Distrust ....
the point that the finger of distrust shows
is that you become what you are
firm and unperturbed as others cannot make you
comfortable about what to do and where
you experience this way of looking at things
straight to the eye
and without any question anymore
the way you walk alone on that pavement
where you are too definite where to go
and stop
you have become a horse driving no carriage
listening to no master
there is nothing that blinds the side of your eyes
you listen to the wind and you leap upon its imagination
of a mirage, a desert that you can cross
the oasis that waits for you and the date palms with abundant fruits
there is no one now that deserves your voice
it is you and you alone that must speak and be heard
you alone that live and die
for in truth there is no one that has that ability to save you
for now, being alone is strength
a recuperation from a brokenness
a reconstruction, a redemption....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cabinessence
Light the lamp and fire mellow,
Cabin essence timely hello,
Welcomes the time for a change.
Lost and found, you still remain there.
Youll find a meadow filled with grain there.
Ill give you a home on the range.
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
I want to watch you windblown facing
Waves of wheat for your embracing.
Folks sing a song of the grange.
Nestle in a kiss below there.
The constellations ebb and flow there.
And witness our home on the range.
Who ran the iron horse?
(truck driving man do what you can)
Who ran the iron horse?
(high-tail your load off the road)
Who ran the iron horse?
(out of night-life-its a gas man)
Who ran the iron horse?
(I dont believe I gotta grieve)
Who ran the iron horse?
(in and out of luck)
Who ran the iron horse?
(with a buck and a booth)
Who ran the iron horse?
(catchin on to the truth)
Who ran the iron horse?
(in the vast past, the last gasp)
Who ran the iron horse?
(in the land, in the dust, trust that you must)
Who ran the iron horse?
(catch as catch can)
Have you seen the grand coolie workin on the railroad?
Have you seen the grand coolie workin on the railroad?
Have you seen the grand coolie workin on the railroad?
Over and over,
The crow cries uncover the cornfield.
Over and over,
The thresher and hover the wheat field.
Over and over,
The crow cries uncover the cornfield.
Over and over,
The thresher and hover the wheat field.
Over and over,
The crow cries uncover the cornfield.
Over and over,
The thresher and hover the wheat field.
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All This Stuff
All this stuff going on in my head all the time.
All my fixed constellations changing like fireflies.
All the burning ladders of my unsuccessful siege of heaven
lying down like crosswalks at the feet of the mob.
And the stars that seemed so aloof and untouchable
settling like dust on my eyes.
I want to go home but home itself is gone
and there is no one waiting for me.
I live in these nomadic tents of my breath
that the wind blows through day and night
and everything I touch
though I long for the will of a pyramid
turns into quicksand.
I observe the life within me going on,
this flux of intimate intensities
as if I were no more than the container
and sentient window of a stranger's house
looking in out of the darkness
of my uninhabitable homelessness
that has always been my last known address.
Nothing is ever what it seems
in this shell-game of themes and memes
that shuffles me around like a hard pea
gullible enough to deceive itself
it might one day turn into
the new moon of a black pearl.
But I'm chained by my vertebrae to a slaver
in a caravan of all my wild sides
being dragged like a jungle
toward these civilized coasts
that put everything asunder
that God has joined together
and brand what they sever
with the savage logos of an enforced belonging
that death is the only escape from.
My private cloud of unknowing
with the occasional black lightning bolt of insight
that sets my roots on fire
so that the whole tree becomes its own funeral pyre
and sheds me in flames.
And trying to fit me like a shoe
to the newly washed foot of God
is a vain waste of time for both of us
when you're life's got a hole in it
I keep patching with poems in the cold
or keep stopping along the way to take off
and dump out the pebble of the world
I'm walking on with a limp.
And it's as foolish for a river
to ask where its youth has gone
as it is for me to lament the passage of mine
that I sent on up ahead like water
to keep something flowing behind me.
I don't look for grey hairs in the wind
when it's as clear as grace
that time and space
don't encroach upon the stars like cataracts
and everyone we've ever been
lives on in each of us forever
like water waiting in the open mouth
of the frozen moonskull
for me to swallow and thaw
so that the blossom can flesh the dead branch again
that trembles and bends before the wishing well
that all men drink from like a bell
in this mirage of fire in a desert of stars
to taste the lightning-tongued elixirs of life
that frees the serpent from its scars
like a discarded straitjacket of skin and pain
to go witching for water in hell again.
poem by Patrick White
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Raccoon
Yesterday I found this mammal in the trash bin,
Chiefly gray has a bushy ringed tail
Smiled with me like an old politician.
Today when I went to throw the garbage
Oh! It's almost dead but that rare smile is there.
How funny is this horrible life?
He gives and takes like a gambling.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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