Nostalgia at the pier
Two kids waving their hands
By the glass window of this
Interisland boat
About to dock at Pulawan pier
Their father is there waiting
they have not seen each
Other for four years
From australia
Now back to the philippines
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Australia
Opportunities are available in all walks of life in australia
So if youre young and if youre healthy
Why not get a boat and come to australia
Australia, the chance of a lifetime
Australia, you get what you work for
Nobody has to be any better than what they want to be
Australia, no class distinction
Australia, no drug addiction
Nobodys got a chip on their shoulder
Well surf like they do in the u.s.a.
Well fly down to sydney for our holiday
On sunny christmas day
Australia, australia
No one hesitates at life or beats around the bush in australia
So if youre young and if youre healthy
Why not get a boat and come to australia
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Everyone walks around with a perpetual smile across their face
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Australia sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la
Everyone gets around and nobody can ever get you down
Well surf like they do in the u.s.a.
Well fly down to sydney for our holiday
On sunny christmas day
Australia, australia
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rainy Days Inside My Mind
it is a summer day
but the rainy days still exist inside my mind
it was a Sunday
when the rain was falling softy at the pier
the M/V Alfredo was about to leave
bound for Manila
and there was you
my love
waving your hands
for till then
we never saw each other again
this afternoon i am standing on
a pavement on the same pier
the M/V Alfredo had long
sunk
and i do not know anymore where
you destiny placed you
i am hiding my eyes inside this thick
sunglasses
no one knows how i feel
for outside
i am still smiling and then another boat
sounds its call
i guess, i have to leave them all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Purpose Does A Rabbit Have
The same nightmare woke my father
every night for years.
He had no idea what it meant
and so he wrote the story down
and saved the note and hoped
some day he'd understand it.
But a note like that
can be misplaced.
Decades later Father
found the note
in a drawer of socks
he hadn't worn in years.
He found it underneath
his old glass eye the night
Mother came back on the Harley
to 'make their marriage work.'
He reminded Mother they had
been divorced for years
and then, despite her tears,
he told her, 'After all this time,
we both know now that you
were gone before you left.
But now you're back so
let me tell you all about
the nightmare I've had every night
since you took the bike and left.
I wrote the story down to tell the kids
when they grew up but they ran off
before I had a chance to ask them
if they knew what my dream might mean.
You'd like the kids. They're pretty smart.
Anyway my note says this:
'What purpose does a rabbit have
other than as prey?
What difference does a rainbow make
in a rabbit's day? '
You tell me now you love me,
always have and always will.
But the kids are gone forever
so take the Harley now and go.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Washing Windows
Your mother used to sit on the window
Ledge of the tenement building and
Wash the windows of each of the rooms.
She’d push back the shutters and just
Sit there with a bucket of warm water
And a cloth and wash away. You were
Always afraid she’d lean too far back
And fall out and down to the ground
Several storeys below with a heavy crash
And break bones or neck or maybe die.
But she’d just sit there her legs holding
Onto the wall beneath her and push her
Right hand holding the damp cloth
Over the glass while her left hand held
The metal bucket tight swishing the warm
Water as she moved back and forth like
Some lone trapeze artist on the high wire
Without apparent fear or knowledge of
Was going on in the street below with the
Passing of the walking dead as Father used
To say and Mrs Febrile sitting on her window
Ledge with her daughter watching gossiping
And nosing about who did what to whom
While all the while you were frightened of
Your mother slipping out the window waving
Her hands and arms as she fell to her doom.
poem by Terry Collett
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Somebody Might Wave Back
Seven oclock in the morning and Im riding the overnight train
Ive got ten tonnes of luggage but I left it behind when I came
I look at my watch, says september seventeen
Were riding past some place where Ive never been
And Im waving through the window as we go
Somebody says well, hey, what are you waving at?
Well what have I got to lose
Somebody might wave back
Seven oclock in the morning and Im carrying bags under my eyes
Been awake all night, counting the hours to sunrise
(drawing patterns/beating rhythms) on the tabletop
I lift my gaze and my mouth just dropped
Someone waving in the window at me
And I say hey there, what are you waving at?
When he says what do I have to lose,
Somebody might wave back
What do I have to lose,
Somebody might wave back
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paper boat
Hunger has risen up to the sky.
Is your boat seaworthy?
I am scared my son will it be capsized on the way?
Your loving father's boat is a massive one.
I cannot listen to these scaremongers gossiping.
They are very superstitious of your father
And state that he lives in a remote island with a family.
Is it possible my son to bring your nuisance father back safely in your paper boat?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Outside Your Window
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I feel the seconds slowly pass,
Whilst you I anxiously await.
And behind the glowing glass;
I glimpsed a fading candlelight.
And I with hope was filled and so:
Wished I for love and life this night.
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I see through the looking glass,
To find my missing soulmate.
And when the light finally flew;
When darkness swamped the room:
A wide smile on my face drew;
And waited I for you to bloom.
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I feel my feelings all amass,
As I your beauty contemplate.
Seconds felt forever;
Nor beauty I did see.
All alone my eyes did glitter;
Whilst wondering where you would be!
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I walked on in your impasse;
Wishing it's not yet too late.
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I lonesome stood for long alas!
And didn't notice your window grate.
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I tried to drag out of that morass,
Myself; and my lost senses locate.
Outside Her Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I watched my heart swiftly by a lass,
Gets stolen; and did my soul sedate.
Outside Her Window;
I still pass by everyday.
Outside Her Window;
I can't just turn and walk away.
Outside Her Window;
I still have hope that she might show.
Outside Her Window;
I watch my life pass by so slow.
Outside Your Window;
And in the hands of fate:
I once awaited you alone all night.
But now I know: it's just too late!
poem by Danny The Dreamer Boyd
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About Last Night
the boat was small
the glass window is round
like an eyeball
looking out to the
vast sea
it is dark
the black shark is a shadow
inside the dark
blueness of the
night water
there is a storm
a man stands
waiting for what comes next
he must jump
to the water
if needs be
the big eye of the fish
stares at him
with fury
that night
they were eye to eye
and then the fish
passes away
opposite the boat's
direction
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Burning Down
]from the back of my neck, oh oh oh
Wired a glass jaw, oh oh
Plantation burning your boat is coming in
Strum your jews-harp, youre reeking gin
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Johnny mike is reading in the yard
His storys timely, oh oh oh
What river is it anyway, radio
Not in a boat, in your ear
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
You pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Hes cooking in the woods, a brush fire in your neck
Feeling mighty mighty, oh oh oh
You can pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Losing Track
Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:
you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way
a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?
and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the
tide swings you away before
I know I'm
alone again long since,
mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.
poem by Denise Levertov
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New World
A child on the shoulders of his father,
Watched the other kids with their bags to school,
Playing with their toys by the pool,
Shed tears and wished to be one of them,
The father went from man to man, street to street,
Signaling cars, gentility, with open hands,
Torn clothes, dirty face he stands,
Received nothing but ridiculing mass,
Who's responsible if his father is not rich?
The son, the father, we or democracy?
God, his angels, nature, or prophecy?
His eyes bleeding, his father's pleading,
Who will answer this little child's question?
Waiting am I for any suggestion.
poem by Jahan zaib
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When I Look At The Time That I Have Wasted Years Ago
i feel like a frozen glass filled with water in the freezer
when i look back to all the years that i have wasted
doing the things where i can never put my best
because that is what father want me to be
i leave all the traces of what i love in those years
that still ask me where i am
where i live what i have been doing lately
when they heard that i am into law they all laughed
and then sighed
that is not the name that they first know me
they have a word for me
written in the poems that i once wrote
my name was lust and love all bound together
in one piece
my name was written in the cover book of the literature book
in the maiden issues
of the poetry collections of lilia and tita
i look back again and they all raise their hands back
as though to embrace me
back into their bosoms again
they are calling my name
you are poetry.please come back to us.
i know the reason why i am sad.
i have forgotten my real name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Case Of The Window Pain
an astute answer
discerning shrewd
would surely mention
this wit must be
personification
of a window pane
as for the window pain
perhaps the window is shamed
perhaps the window is dirty
as for the window pain
perhaps the glass is cracked
small large cracks streaked
as for the window pain
perhaps cricket ball punctured
victim of circle game holed
as for the window pain
perhaps the window is broken
glass shards bear crime witness
as for the window pain
perhaps window frame rots
an old window in house derelict
as for the window pain
perhaps the window witnesses
child abuse domestic scenes violent
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Open Your Soul To Me
Open your soul to me,
Open your soul to me,
Open your soul to me.
If we dont open our souls to each other,
Theres nothing in between us.
All the years of living,
All the years of talking,
All the years of sharing the space.
If we dont open our souls to each other,
Theres nothing in between us.
I remember your eyes,
Reflecting the skies.
Waiting for the boat to come,
Waiting for the boat.
Writing the script of life,
Playing the guessing game,
Hurting from love and fear.
If we dont open our souls to each other,
Theres nothing in between us.
Some day when your boat is here
And youre way out there,
You may remember the summer clouds
And that I tried to reach you.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Your Soul To Me
Open your soul to me,
Open your soul to me,
Open your soul to me.
If we dont open our souls to each other,
Theres nothing in between us.
All the years of living,
All the years of talking,
All the years of sharing the space.
If we dont open our souls to each other,
Theres nothing in between us.
I remember your eyes,
Reflecting the skies.
Waiting for the boat to come,
Waiting for the boat.
Writing the script of life,
Playing the guessing game,
Hurting from love and fear.
If we dont open our souls to each other,
Theres nothing in between us.
Some day when your boat is here
And youre way out there,
You may remember the summer clouds
And that I tried to reach you.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Player
So there U are
About time U showed up
Yea, I know what U heard
But let me talk
Baby, take a look outside your window
And see your future standing there
I've been here 4 a while now, baby
Or maybe U weren't aware
I knew that U heard every single story
About all the friends that I've got
But baby, if U give me 7 years of your time
All the friends I would have not
CHORUS:
Player - If I had U girl, I wouldn't be one
Player - If U'd let me in the mix, we could have fun
Player - If life was a movie, U'd have the main part
Girl, U're number one with a bullet on my charts
Don't make me say I need U like a begger man
Why don't U let me come inside?
I'm the type of male that a girl like U is in need of
Sho' U right
I could take U sailing in a glass bottom boat
U could drink wine while I read poems that I wrote
I'm sick of fishing in the big sea, baby
I wanna check out the settling down
I wanna dock my boat in your fairway
In your kisses I wanna drown {x3}
CHORUS
If I had U girl, I wouldn't be one
Friends, whatever they told U, they lied
My life's an open book, I ain't got nothing 2 hide
I need U like a begger, yeah, I got no pride
Open your heart, let me come inside
CHORUS
Baby, take a look outside your window
And see your future standing there
I've been here 4 a while now, baby
Or maybe U wouldn't care
I knew that U heard every single story
About all the friends that I've got
But baby, if U give me 7 years of your time
All the friends I will have not
Player - If I had U girl, I wouldn't be one
Player - If U'd let me in the mix, we could have fun
Player - If life was a movie, U'd have the main part
Cuz girl, U're number one with a bullet on my charts
Player {x3}
So that's my day in court
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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leaving Pier 2 (my own version of departure)
it is not easy to leave
Pier 2. First one buys
a ticket, gets a pass.
Then you open your bag before
that security guard
who does not look
like a man at all,
then you take your bag
and sit inside the shuttle
that takes you to another
building. You step down
take your bag again.
Another inspection is
done. You pass by
another door, a detector
of metals and fragments.
You take another bus
again that transports you
to the port of entry where
the boat is about to leave.
You're almost dead when
you arrive at your bed
inside the boat.
Then you discover that
your bag was left at the
bus. It is missing and
your money is there.
Leaving Pier 2 is
really that inconvenient.
You are not wet by
the rain. It has nothing
to do with your bareback
or your taste of salt
as your lips kiss the
sea and be dramatic
to assume that your
lover is finally getting
rid of your body odor.
You are
practically bathing
with your own sweat.
Who cares anyway?
You swear you take
the plane next time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Havana Moon
Chant...
Me all alone
Jug of rum
Me stand and wait for the boat to come
Is lonely night is quiet the dark
The boat she late its 12 o clock
Me watches the tide easin in
Is low the moon and high the wind
Havana moon
Havana moon
Me all alone
Me open the rum
Is long the wait for the boat to come
American girl come back to me
Sail way across the sea
We dock in new york the buildings high
We find a home up in the sky
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
Me still alone me drinkin the rum
Begin to think that the boat no come
American girl she tell a lie
She say till then, but she mean goodbye
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
Me lay down alone, no good the rum
Me fall asleep and the boat she come
The girl she look till come the dawn
She weep and she cry
Return for home
The whistle blow me open my eyes
Bright the sun blue the sky
Me grab me shoes, me jump and me run
Me see the boat head for horizon
Havana moon is gone da rum
The boat she sail me love she gone
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ferryer
Three years after my father's death
he goes back to work. Unemployed
for twenty-five years, he's very glad
to be taken on again, shows up
on time, tireless worker. He sits
in the prow of the boat, sweet cox, turned
with his back to the carried. He is dead, but able
to kneel upright, facing forward
toward the other shore. Someone has closed
his mouth, so he looks more comfortable, not
thirsty or calling out, and his eyes
are open, there under the iris the black
line that appeared there in death. He is calm,
he is happy to be hired, he's in business again,
his new job is a joke between us and he
loves to have a joke with me, he keeps
a straight face. He waits, naked,
ivory bow figurehead,
ribs, nipples, lips, a gaunt
tall man, and when I bring people
and set them in the boat and push them off
my father poles them across the river
to the far bank. We don't speak,
he knows that this is simply someone
I want to get rid of, who makes me feel
ugly and afraid. I do not say
the way you did. He knows the labor
and loves it. When I dump someone in
he does not look back, he takes them straight
to hell. He wants to work for me
until I die. Then, he knows, I will
come to him, get in his boat
and be taken across, then hold out my broad
hand to his, help him ashore, we will
embrace like two who were never born,
naked, not breathing then up to our chins we will
pull the dark blanket of earth and
rest together at the end of the working day.
poem by Sharon Olds
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A Radio With Guts
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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