En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My Life Is Just A House And Nothing Else

people say i am a narrow
path. There is no allowance for
a waterway. There is even
no space for birds. No grains
along the way. No flowers.

they add, i am cruel
above all to myself. I give
myself no time for wishes.
No dreams. There is no
horizon for an illusion.

my life is just a house and
nothing else. There is no
backyard, no place for
dogs to play. An extension
could be an office. There is
no other path that leads
to the circus. I hate clowns.

People say i am mad.
I don't mind. I am real.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The World's Damnation

People lie, people cry. People try, people die. In this world you have to cut your own path, Don't let others determine what your heart decides. People give, people take. People help, people kill. This world is a dangerous place, filled with hate. While your feelin' may be different, you must open your eyes. So much pain, so much hate, so much hurt, so much death. Death may be the end for some. While to others, it is only the beginnin. Love and Pain, It's all the same. Everyones loved someone in with life, but it just makes the pain worse. Love, Hate, Pain, Sorrow...This is the World's Damnation.

poem by Clint Tilley
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The Road to Dohinob

it used to be a narrow road
fit only for the buffalo
muddy during the rain
and dusty during a sunny day
but today
the Road to Dohinob
is the one that leads to
heaven

along the road the flowers
sings
like the angels of his dreams

from where he is now
he imagines the long narrow path
expanding a bit
giving way to more space
for his new life
with her

at the tip of this wider road
he hears
the baby laughing

the skies are lighter than the usual blue
and the sunflowers are brighter than the stars at night
his heart cannot muster a word
for this newly found
happiness

overflowing.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Path of Hope

The Path of Hope
The Path of Life is layed before you
Life is like a novel…It has elements
It has Characters
It has Settings
It has a Plot
It has Ideals and Morals
Like Friendship and Love
Like Faith and Sacrifice
Like Fate and Destiny
Like Hope and Despair
There are Paths…Paths of your destiny
The Path of Good or The Path of Evil
The Path of Darkness or The Path of Light
The Path of Hope or The Path of Despair
Only you can choose your path
But chose wisely…For you can’t turn back time
You must follow your heart…For it will guide you
Never give up on your dreams
Always Believe…Trust your heart
Don’t let the bad people get you down
Just Believe,
Trust your Heart,
Have Faith in your Dreams,
Have Hope in the Despair,
Follow the Light in the Darkness
Find the Euphoria in the Sorrows,
Trust your Friends,
Follow the Stars…They will Guide you
May the Stars be a Light for you when all other Lights go out
Life is like a Novel…

poem by Bleeding Heart
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Taking The Narrow Path

this is the narrow path
of disbelief
one gets elbow to elbow
with uncertainties
in a party of masks
one talks to someone
without a name
with no place to stay
this is the narrow path
it only you that fits in
and all they say when they pass
are excuses
this is the narrow path of silence
questions hang like stars in the skies
you are a grain of sand
below a full moon
you look for light and comfort
there is so much
but you have none

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Originality

my ambition in life
is not to follow any path
not to close my mind
on something that
they believe in

i like the wanton
exhibition of ideas
in the circus of life

bearded women
fire eating men

and people who do
not believe in anything anymore

i like a grassy mountain
there is no path in there
and there are no footsteps.

i like a north star
to gaze upon my window

i am not here to follow
i am not here to lead

i am here to watch and then
write what i have seen

for those who are blind
they may see through my words

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Familiarity With The World, Finally....

no place does not give you a distraction
the sound of the machine that lingers in the air and pierces your ear
it will always be there
the sound of engines
more cruel than thunder
and folding waves of the storms at sea
bigger than houses
shall always meet you straight in the eye
deeper in your mind
there seems to be no peaceful place of the leaves and
grass
where you can rest your body where your soul finds an imaginary
home
where the heart can sleep and dream
there seems to be none
and so you run and run as fast as you can to find it
but the running even if it does not stop
finds no such place
and hopeless then
you rest upon a field of destructive sounds and then begin to
accept them as they are
the mad cry of the baby, the heated exchange of hate between
couples, the war of governments and people,
all these are very real
are becoming spots in your skin
your very own shadow that goes with you everywhere you go
you too, is that sound of anger and despair
this is the world
this is your place
now, you must learn what is this all about
rest your head upon the madness of the crowd
sleep amidst the chaos
this is finally what we call as home
yes, a home in a very crowded mall, in a very narrow path
towards a broken door, that slanted room.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Path

What makes us tick?
What's this life all about?
When the going gets tough,
Do you quiver with doubt?

My life it has an order.
Everything has a place.
It's like a casual stroll.
But we think it's a race.

Had I hit that stop light.
Would I have met you?
I am right here, right now,
Because of all I've been through.

It has it's ups and it's downs
And it's ins and it's outs.
Sometimes it rains 'til it floods.
And we go through some droughts.

I'm in a special place now.
Where I've always longed to be.
I thought life was so wrong,
But now I have to agree.

Been there, done that.
I'd do it again.
To see where my path leads me
Leads me in the end.

It all comes together.
After it all falls apart.
A blank piece if canvas,
To a fine piece of art.

It's like an intricate puzzle,
And all the pieces, they fit
You won't see the big picture
If you give up and quit.

Embrace your life journey.
And all the paths you have gone.
All those paths they have lead you,
To the path that you're on.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Though it is tough

Though it is tough Few tell lies, honesty is found Majority are liars It is much more honorable to be honest Honesty is the best legacy The narrow path leads through narrow path of honesty and so trouble gets far away from our domain We see and acknowledge it is true

poem by Olayemi Ayo
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5: 10 P.m. Along A Narrow Path

late afternoon at 5: 10 i look at my watch.
darkness is coming like a grey blanket to the mountain.
i walk on this narrow path.
Grassy.
It means no one passes here as often.
Secluded path.
Less entered.
Or maybe forgotten.
Or maybe avoided.
Dangerous perhaps.
I walk on it for a time now.
No sound of birds.
Just darkness trying to steal every light of day.

And then i meet you.
My eyes are poor to sight now.
I see a shadow meeting me,
and when we are too near
i see your smile. It is met with my smile too,
like lovers.
I like them.
these smiles to be lovers anyhow.
I am thirsty.
I am hungry, for love.
Or even lust.
I am very hungry.Indeed i am very thirsty.

Then you pass by my shoulder on this narrow path.
You smell like a big basket of flowers,
the champaca that i grow
right in my own backyard that i always smell at night
in my place.Alone.

The cold air carries your perfume inside my nostrils.
It rebounds within the corners of my mind.
It seeps in my soul.It is absorbed like urine to a pamper.
It stays in my heart.
I am reborn.
My heart is restless again.
IT is you that i meet.
It is your perfume pervading on that narrow path
deep down into the bonemarrow of my soul.

I like the dark clouds to rain.Hard, unstopping.
I like to run.
Anywhere.
I like to bathe
under the rain. I like to get wet all over.
I like to play a game under
the rain. I like to be a child again. Hardheaded. Sick.
The ground where i stand is dry. My chest is empty and my
body is fuming with hot lava like a volcano.
I like to erupt.

I like to undress and be naked.
I like to throw my hat to the trees.
Myjacket to the wind.
My shoes to the forest.
My socks to the creeks.
My watch to the farthest skies.

I like to throw away this book of poetry that i keep inside my armpit.
I like to burn it even. I like its pages to be blown like leaves
anywhere. Anywhere. I like them lost forever.

I like to jump into the river. I like to drown. I like to be lost
at the bottom.I like to close my eyes. I like to be carried away.

i do not like to go back to the narrow path.
I do not like to meet you
again and pass me by.
It is always like that.
Meeting. Opposite ways.
Leaving. Departure. Regrets. Silence.
Perfumes that do not leave me.

Where does love live? what is her name?
I do not know you, Love.
Why is it always like that?
Opposite ways. Repulsion. I never felt
what true love is. Obstructed. I don't know.
I was never embraced with the warmth of
its armpits.
I am the air gushing, going and going, arriving at nothing.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Hate It

i hate this stupid world
and the place i have in it
i hate this stupid house
and the life that its finished

i hate this computer
so ragged, so slow
i hate all the things
that i do not know

i hate the way words
can bring a person to their knees
i hate that hearts
break so easily

i hate that people die
when theyre oh so young in age
i hate it when my book
is oddly missing a page

i hate it when you cry
and won't tell me what's wrong
i hate the way people write random stuff
and sing it and call it a song

i hate that life sucks
and always will for me
i hate it that we can't
go on living happily

i hate it that i like you
when you so obviously don't like me back
i hate it when my parents
never cut me any slack

i hate it that im breaking
and nothing can fix the truth
i hate my wounds for healing
and not staying to give proof

i hate that i hate so many things
yet i don't regret a bit
i hate it that i don't always hate the days
when i feel like shit

poem by Something Changing
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The Forgotten Song

It’s not the road that matters,
But the path that leads you on.
You find your way, through cloud and stone,
To some forgotten song.
It’s not the path that leads you,
But your heart that shows you true.
And in the end, the only thing
That matters here is you.

It’s time to put an end to this,
One overdue by far.
A person is a person and
You’re only what you are.
A person can be only that,
You’re only what you are.

It’s not your head that matters,
But you heart that leads the way.
Perfection is an aimless goal,
And endless game we play.
It’s not your heart that leads you,
For your feet move where they will.
A body once in motion then
Can nevermore be still.

It’s time to put an end to this,
One overdue by far.
A person is a person and
You’re only what you are.
A person can be only that,
You’re only what you are.

But there is never just one way,
For life has many roads.
And who can ever find the way,
For no one really knows?

It’s not the road that matters,
Nor the path that leads you on.
It’s neither heart nor head nor feet
That finds that hidden song.
It’s been inside you all this time,
A ballad tried and true.
The answer comes to those who live:
What matters here is you.

It’s time to put an end to this,
One overdue by far.
A person is a person and
You’re only what you are.
A person can be only that,
You’re only what you are.

poem by Allison Rose
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Never The Time And The Place

Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path--how soft to pace!
This May -- what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,
Uncoil thee from the waking man!
Do I hold the Past
Thus firm and fast
Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?
This path so soft to pace shall lead
Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms and strangers: we
Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, --
I and she!

poem by Robert Browning
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In Wanting To Be Another

as we arrive at the house
of insufficiency
and begin to ponder upon
the deficiency
of our vocabulary for life
its syntax
trend and nuances
we sometimes wish we were
another person
or perhaps another famous creature
with a certain expertise
for doing something that other people
cannot do
or having a talent
that pleases most
the crowd

we sit on a bench
lay our head
wear our sunglasses and
try to look directly at the sun
to make a plea
for our wishes
for our weird dreams to come true

nothing happens
it is the same path that we walk upon
the same stones spread
the same boring yellow flowers at the sides

like water seeking its own level
we begin to adjust
want from need
ambition form wish
power from life
mere from far.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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World Of Clowns

People who cover their true faces with makeup
People who act totally different from who they really are
People who are bad actors, but good performers
People who don't take things seriously
People who have fake sense of humor to replace their hurts
People who live fake lives to impress the audience around us
People who are masters at doing tricks to give false leads to the most attentive watchers
People who fall down again and again just to get the reaction
People who laugh even though there's no more smiles in them
People who have a fear of themselves

We
Are
A
World
of
Clowns

poem by Hope Denton
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Divergent Faith

A path; continued In time
For self interest
Not of mine, other

This path is not of meet with
Rather divergent faith.

The path in between
Two segments of brain.
Thin, enkindled with light of own.
Difference! The path in between two segments
Knows how to meet with.

And, this path is not of meet with
Rather divergent faith.

Drenched late autumn with
Glamorous night & quiet mist
Likely go in for convergence.
Dew laps faith
This dropp of faith
Seems to dark
Dazzling spark.
The path of late autumn
Encircle the wreath of faith

And, this path is not of meet with
Rather divergent faith.

Eternal path
An elisium of solemn soul
Who burn with passion.
Time; a narrow passing mate
Although the path live
In the course time.

And, this path is not of meet with
Rather divergent faith.

poem by Onon Sarker
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What Do You Do I Ask

(5/4/12)

What do you do when you feel all hope is gone
And hanging by a thread you linger on.
What do you do when you take three steps forward
And eight steps back, and in life you're always under attack.

What do you do when you have door after door
Slam in your face, and to hide - there is no place.
What do you do when your loved ones have lost faith in you
And you don't know what to do.

What do you do when you pray every day
And the answers don't come your way.

Is this really the time to give up hope
When all your life you learned to cope.
Your dreams don't come when you want
And may never come at all
And to the ground they may fall.

Your dreams may not be what GOD has intended
But in your life, your dreams may be ended.
There may be another path that he wants you to travel
And his answers will all unravel.

Your life is not lived just for yourself
You must touch everyone else.
We are surrounded by millions of people
And each life touching another
And giving hope to so many others.

We can not see what he has in store
But we live with faith as we open the new door.
The door may be something that we don't expect
And it will make our lives better yet.
So open the door and let that radiating light shine through
For this is the light and path that belongs to you.

poem by Louis Rams
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Is This You?

I hate the way I look
I hate the way I feel
I hate the way I know
That my hate is real

I hate the way some people
Seem to get all the breaks
I hate the way I don't have
What it seems to take

I hate the way some people
Never seem to lose
I hate the way it seems
I never get to choose

I hate the way some people
Think they know it all
I hate the way those people
Never seem to fall

I hate so much in this life
Sometimes I cannot see
Because I am so filled with hate
I sometimes even hate me

4-11-07/RJH

poem by Ray Hansell
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The Lords Path

there is a choice that i must make
of which path that i should take.
i was shown the path that leads
to my death and destruction.

but! i must teach my fellow man
the life of a new construction.

the life of following the LORDS word
so it can be taught and heard.

seeing the path which ahead lies.
do i continue and give it a try?

is my faith strong enough
for this path is mighty tough.
so here i stand with choice in hand.
do i help my fellow man?

do i give up my life so that the
world could be free and follow this destiny?

or do i forget my fellow mans needs
of which my LORD had planted this seed.

this is the choice that HE has given to me.
to follow him so that other men could lead.

to lead mankind to the path of light
and be able to see all the LORDS might.

and now this question i propose to you
if you was me what would you do?

(we all know the choice he made, for our salvation)

poem by Louis Rams
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Me For All

i shall satisfy you all
none shall go home without a gift

i give you the beauty of
a silent face

to another the fullness of
open arms

and to the most patient of them all
i shall give what i have always kept

for quite a time
this nothingness of the mind

this anticipations of the soul
this path that leads to more

gardens of flowers in that
fertile fields of free formations.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Circus Song

Cotton candy, two for a quarter
See if the fat man can guess your weight
A big stuffed tiger is what I bought her
And I'm going home 'cause it's late
Roller coasters make me dizzy
And cotton candy makes me sick
I wish I had some Bromo fizzy
Now that would do the trick
Everyone knows that the clowns aren't happy
And everyone knows that the people don't care
I wish I could laugh at the way that they're acting
But I'm so sick, I just don't dare to
High wire dancers kick and balance
White silk horses step in time
The tattooed man displays his talents
I'm not the talented kind
I always go to the circus on Sunday
And there I can laugh at the people I see
But when I leave home in the morning on Monday
Everybody laughs at me
I make other people nervous
I guess that's why they laugh at me
But to me my life is a three-ring circus
And I can see it for free
Have you seen my wife Elvira?
She can tame a lion, you know
Well, I once had a bushy mane
But that was so damn long ago
Tight-collared clowns in plastic buildings
Have happy families as their fate
Happy jobs and happy clubs
And happy people they hate
Everyone's juggling and everyone's acting
With smiles of grease paint three feet wide
Everyone's caught on a carousel pony
And one time around is a lifetime ride

song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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