Openness In Prayer
the walls of the
house are thick
and high
the windows are
closed
and so are the
doors
the roof is taken
away
for you to see
the sky the stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tonight Something Hot Is Going On
outside the
fence of the house
the dogs
the bitches are
doing it tonight
in heat
they bark at each others'
lust
who can fence
lust?
no one stops
a river
no one can keep
the rain
from falling
look at us
how pitiful have we become
because
of civilization
we are inside this house
with safe windows
with well locked doors
high fences
thick walls
how unhappy
can restraint ever be?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Expectedly
houses are strong
and well insulated
in your
hinterland
but mine is on top
of the hill
kissed by the sun
it is open to the
air
they come and go
and come again
this is the house without
doors and stairs
a house deprived of
windows
and peeping holes
and cracks and
slits
this is the house of the
sun
the earth loves it
its body attached
to the grass
it has no pillars
but trees
no roof but clouds
no walls but spaces
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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My House Was Not There
when the walls came down
and it was someone else for whom
the wind in windmills moved
and when the cyclone grew beyond the waters
to suck in deep within those maddened drops
my house had already been ruined in my heart
my doors had already been shut
my windows had already been closed
they opened in the sky
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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From The Terrace
White house
brown roof
windows with outsretched arms
speak to my eyes
urging acceptance
Walls lift roof to gray sky
breeze flowing through the columns
floor, not for walking
but for ascending
request my steps
to be uplifted
Arches curve upwards
and downwards
dancing like the waves
invite me to join
all is in place
all agog with excitement
My soul flutters
knees buckle
and answer no
to House built with greed
not sweat of labour
Here I stay
on the terrace
watching house
not Home
blocks and roof
not sweat and contentment
poem by Mark Nwagwu
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Why Am I Needing This?
I am not those dark days lived.
To perform an existing within shadows.
I am not,
One who sits comfortably...
Fixed to fears,
Of my own image appearing...
On walls that I visit forelorned.
I can not accept a misery imposed upon me.
I can not accept...
My own reflection hinting with signs of neglect.
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I am the light that brightly shines...
Beyond closed and locked doors,
My mind has been convinced...
I'm needing more to restrict my addictions.
I'm needing more of this...
To keep and explore!
'I am not those dark days lived',
I say.
'I am not that one existing,
Within the restriction of shadows.'
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I live beyond closed and locked doors!
And yet I am a victim,
Of my own self inflicting addictions.
Why am I needing this...
To keep adventured and explored?
'Why am I needing this?
Why from it I just can't quit? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Feeling A Red Brick Wall With My Soft White Hands
red bricks
walls
thick walls
seeing these walls
of red bricks
feeling the hardness
of each
with my soft hands
close my eyes
feel that
i am inside you
a wall
no i don't scream
i moan
and then i am silent
so tired and
asleep
dreaming of windows
red doors
golden locks
platinum keys
wings on my shoulder
feathers of birds
blue skies red suns
blue moons
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Invitation
Come into my night;
the darkness is so cold
that sparrows flee
my winter trees,
so I have closed
my windows and my doors.
I horde my little warmth.
Crickets will not sing delight
and stars no longer glimmer
in winter’s dreary night.
O come,
O come, Emmanuel!
I am captive and dull.
I cannot see the flashing stars
that lurk beyond the cloud.
O come into my small house
and my meager fire share.
O come, and bring fierce angels
to cut away death’s empty snare!
poem by Steven Federle
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Openness
a house without doors
and windows
walls and beams
entertaining some other
somber possibilities
the wind takes shape
the fluid runs and drips on the
four corners
the sun moves up and down
until the correct idea of what
a house
gets in
who once said that only
from the heart can
one really touch the sky?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Compulsion 5
it is there
it goes out
you want to hide it in your palm
in your clenched fist
it escapes
as perfume
as smoke
from the chimney
of the house
whose windows and doors you have closed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This House This Home
in this house the music of the night
is the soft rain from the sky falling upon the grass
like tiptoeing mothers watching their young children
sleeping and kissing their foreheads
there is no burning fire here from wood
and there is no smoke from a cigarette
it is dark as usual but it is desirable
even darker as there are no stars tonight
i am not sad
i am at home with myself in this house
i hear the symphony of winds and whispers
from the leaves of trees and the chants of earthworms
it is cold and so i have closed all the windows and doors
& then i curl beneath my blanket of roses
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walls
With no consideration, no pity, no shame,
they have built walls around me, thick and high.
And now I sit here feeling hopeless.
I can't think of anything else: this fate gnaws my mind -
because I had so much to do outside.
When they were building the walls, how could I not have noticed!
But I never heard the builders, not a sound.
Imperceptibly they have closed me off from the outside world.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Straight Jacket
i am trying to shape
a world
with my own private thoughts
away from the mob
i am situating myself in a room
on closed doors and closed windows
except the light that i allow to enter
on glassy blocks
the walls will always be there
air comes through the ceiling
on tiny holes
i tried to forget viewing the stars
i must survive even without the light of the moon
it is less romantic
and i am no lunatic
but then she hints on what am i
saying: the fish is meant for the sea
the dog is always meant for a walk
the sparrow cannot live without flying on its wings
and she asks me: will you just be a poet?
or will you be the man for the seasons?
before she left, she left a note stuck on the fridge
magnetically: you are more than the fish, the sparrow, the dog
must i be? i sleep tightly like a straitjacket.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Freedom Tears Down Walls
when we desire
to take a really
close look at society
we should never
waste time precious
walking to windows
we should look clear
straight through walls
through closed doors
stereotype minefields
begin in individual minds
freedom begs visions
walls guarded power secrets
do not preserve inspire peace
they fear greed justify wars
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Closed Walls
those closed walls so tightly pressed to my face
so thin i could hear through to the next room
but not thin enough for me to break free
no windows
nor door
i wonder how i got here
alone and frightend
at one point i once enjoyed
but now as i look at this room no bigger than me why would i
these closed walls must be speaking to me or im delousional
but they told me
once free you must change
change how you think
change how you look at things
change how you love
change how you act
for a momment i listened
but i knew i couldn't
i can change my outer apperance
but never how i think
thesefucking walls must think im stupid
i can think as i please
.
never come near these closed walls.
poem by Martel Alexis
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The Plough of Time
Night closed my windows and
The sky became a crystal house
The crystal windows glowed
The moon
shown through them
through the whole house of crystal
A single star beamed down
its crystal cable
and drew a plough through the earth
unearthing bodies clasped together
couples embracing
around the earth
They clung together everywhere
emitting small cries
that did not reach the stars
The crystal earth turned
and the bodies with it
And the sky did not turn
nor the stars with it
The stars remained fixed
each with its crystal cable
beamed to earth
each attached to the immense plough
furrowing our lives
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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Cliché But True
The eyes those are the windows
The lips those are the doors
Just a bit of a hat for a roof
The arms and hands those are the yards
The legs and feet those are the paths
The human is the House – he dwells
And a Road back home – he travels
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Old House Of My Grandfather
sometimes as i walk early morning
when the suns starts to climb up on the hill
i think of grandfather's house
old, and spacious on top of a hill
overlooking his farm where his carabaos graze
his goat and cows and ducks teem,
oh, those were the years of bounty
and there was no worry,
about what to eat what to do
where to go,
times changed, and now we are always on a race
taking much work, and buying lots of things
sometimes we regret, taking and throwing
going and then returning
apparently, for no purpose and without meaning,
we live in a new house now with glass windows
and iron grill and high and thick walls and fences
we speak less, we move more,
we laugh less, we discuss more,
the old house of grandfather was burned in 1968.
this new house burns all day, and there is no fireman coming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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