Reflecting Upon A Series Of Experiences For This Day.....
The experience has always been
a
shaping and reshaping seemingly without end
like a journey to a horizon that has no limit to the exhaustion of the eyes.
It will always be an invention, and reinvention,
like having to hope for hope because
there is nothing good
happening to
life, it is like looking at a room, sitting on a sofa,
staring at the ceiling, looking beyond the glass window by your side,
and always asking, why is this room always unfinished,
this house always a question of
why? and for all we know, we fail to look at our own feet,
to reflect our eyes on the mirror and
assure ourselves that the hours actually also know how to wait
for answers,
actually, when i look at myself, i look at a stranger,
but i know the name of course, but there is more beyond to this name,
there is something speaking but never really known
something inside us, that is with us, but detached, talking with all honesty, saying
'You are wrong! There is something that you need to correct! '
Tell her, do not be afraid, Go! Go!
This is divided self, inside it, in this chest, there are small cabinets,
more doors, more windows, and endless tunnel without light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Mirrors…..
Take a look in the mirror and realize what you see..
Is it really you or someone you cannot be..
What you say in the mirror, is what the mirror tells..
Then why your own mirror, reflects some one else..
Every mirror has a story, it does tell a tale..
It reflects joy of success, and your tears when you fail..
The mirror never lies, it reflects what is true..
If you yourself dont know who you are, how can it reflect you..? ?
You may look perfect in the mirror, but take a look inside..
There are things unsaid, untold, now your eyes fail to hide..
Watch right through your soul, make sure it's not haunting..
Never realized who you are, your self-esteem still taunting..? ?
The mirror reflects a question mark, that is it really fair..? ?
You failed to live for others, for yourself only you care..
Look in the reflective gaze of glass, try finding your mistake..
Move close, Gaze into the lie and realize that it's fake...
Ask the mirror to reflect the facts, and to show the truth..
Wrongs you did in your life, right from childhood to youth..
Stop wishing for more, the mirrages will never be true..
It may be close to perfection, but it is just not you..
Make your soul your mirror, one that doesn't lie..
Make it pure and crystal clear, say a prayer up high..
Your heart reflects the person you are, so there's nothing to hide..
No mirror reflects you better then the one inside..
poem by Abhijit Surve
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Time To Sit
A time to sit, the doctor said.
The room silent,
the walls a dull grey,
painted God knows when.
The chair uncomfortable,
hard on the arse.
You look around,
cock your ears,
sniff the air.
Tell me, the doc said,
do you hear voices?
The carpeted floor
beneath the feet.
The shoes touch it.
You push hard down on it.
Not springy.
A small window high up
lets in light. The air is stale.
Body smell, sweat.
As if many have sat here
just like you on this chair.
The mind is a complex thing,
the doc said, layer upon layer
of memories and sensations
are buried there.
As if you didn’t know.
He spoke with an Irish lilt.
Just like you. Softer though.
Photographs were on his desk in his room.
You gazed at them as he spoke.
The wife of his some posh bit,
clothes aplenty, eyes just staring.
And two kids staring at you
from another photo: well fed,
nothing much wrong with them.
No screw loose, all right in the head.
The sitting in the room does you no good.
The voices are back,
never been away.
Good day, good day, they say.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Hollow Nature Of Being
WALL I:
inside an empty room lies an empty box
and in that box is a four walled inside room within-
on each of the four walls is a mirror reflecting
the deep desertion of the next
and distant within each wall is another
echoing & spiraling back into infinite repetition
with nothing or no one except the physical entities
bearing back upon each other.
WALL II:
an empty room in an empty house
the house itself has no physical attributes because it
was built in a barren field-
there are no animals, no trees,
no beings of any kind
roaming around the house whose image cannot be
imagined,
at best, know that this house in fact
“housed” the room in question,
as any house might any room.
WALL III:
such a barren field stretches to all four corners
carrying itself out beyond the periphery
curling back in on the other side,
and walking in any direction will bring one back to the
beginning-
the barren field that reveals the empty house that
encapsulates the empty room is the most integral point of
reference within the endless flat plain of grass.
WALL IV:
endless flat plains of grass flowing out in all directions covering
the circumference of the area around the empty house residing in
the middle of the plain wherein
the inside of the empty house holds the
empty room & in the
room,
the four mirrored walls reveal only the replication of the
others,
spiraling into infinite repetition-
there is no feeling
no sound
no communication of any kind
woven with the thread of human fiber.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Outside And Inside
this early morning
the rains are raging
outside is a rampage of
blown leaves and trees
you are afraid may
finally be uprooted
in the room
the brown dog sleeps
beside a wooden wall
on the floor
the glass doors
& windows are closed
the silence reigns
inside you begin
on another journey
you began last night
on some short breaths
until you think
you had a nice sleep
inside there is something
that rages
it is not the wind or the rain
it is something else
that you want to know
more & more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Poem This Afternoon
this poem
has nothing much to give you
some words
discarded that i
keep again
on this monitor
perhaps garbage
or dust or pieces of
scratch papers,
but somehow
i go on writing,
without any purpose
at all
in mind, just
to let the hours pass
by
the minutes wasted
for having to wait
on something else,
the next scene
another event
of my life
a meeting in
another room
a riding of
a vehicle to the city
and then
wait again for the
students in the
university
i talk much
and write too
little
for hours and hours
until it gets so dark
at the late hour
of the night
and then i go home
drive my car
no talking now
just paying attention
to the road
meeting my face
and the faint sound
of the aircon
of the car until i
arrive on the side
of the house
the gate opens
i turn on the light
and go inside the room
to sleep
on this chilly evening.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Denial
Here I am in a house full of doors but no exits
In a light that is grey like the stain on my windows
All of this is a gift, such a painful companion
Inside of me
Its just something I know, the answers not there
It comes and it goes and it frightens me
Its just something I know, the answers not there
It comes and it goes and it frightens me
This feeling inside me cant confront the decay
To fall down on my knees and resume this charade
Believe me, this distance, its not what I need
Inside of me
Its another story, some of it is blurred
I tried to understand him, I tried so hard
Time worked so well upon us inside of me
Inside my soul, inside my soul
Time worked so well upon us
Inside of me, inside my soul
Inside of me, inside my soul
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Stare
a stare is like a stair
it has steps
and there are feet
walking,
and leaving,
you stare at me,
and i see stairs, where you walk
and climb and stop at the middle
and then take the stairs layer by layer
that is what you like to do, to look at me
as though i am this room where you build the stairs
and you want to go inside my room and lock me up
and take all of me with your tongue and hands and
mouth. You mouth me. And i receive the life you have.
and then your stare subsides. the stair is gone.
the room vanishes. I am free. And you are inside me
your stare has become the memory lingering inside me.
i become a bird and you are inside my wings.
Your stairs become my feathers. Your stare
becomes my eyes.
in love, we make the stairs leading to a house.
and there we feast, and live and sleep.
yes, there are wings and windows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hidden Drive
there's a dirty house that's falling apart
some want to fix it but they don't know where to start
there's cobwebs and cracks in the walls
this is where rain's relief dares not to fall
no one really cares to help this place
they just look at the face
this old house is kept inside
with a disguising shell to hide
something i noticed as i passed by
at the house where hope will die
the windows were clean and new
though everywhere else the weeds grew
the windows had such an allure
i couldn't take it anymore
i gazed at the windows in awe
then through them i saw
the messy, run-down house inside
where beauty died
then i realized
something about eyes
eyes are the windows
clean and lovely for show
but behind them is the soul
sometimes your eyes will fool
the beauty and shine will not last
for one day, someone will see past.
poem by Alex Manson
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What have i done
Im in a room with you and its eating me alive
I am in the darkness while you're in the light
I thought what we did would satisfy my itch
But all its done is make me feel like a selfless bitch
I fell for you and your traps and i cant take the guilt
I am feeling pain i have never felt
I dont know what im suppose to do
I cant just go on ignoring you
I cant run away from my fears
I am tired of holding back all these tears
I cant stand whats happening its making me inasne
You are the only thing on my brain
I dont know why but i cant conectrate on anything else
This is unlike anything ive ever felt
How do i defeat this overewhelming pain and terror
I cant stand to look at myself in my own mirror
I dont know how i am suppose to cope
I've tried talking but still no hope
I try escaping through music
everything im deeming useless
I feel like ive been used
I feel like ive been abused
I hate myself more then ever before
Its as if my lifeless body is left bleeding away on the floor
I write this with you in the same room sitting a few rows back
my hands are trembling and i feel like im having a heart attache
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh i scream inside and im trying to claw my way out
but im stuck and theres now way out of this cold dark house
the house of fear and pain
the house where theres nothing but rain
the house in which ive resided for many years
the house in which is made by my tears
poem by Jean Pullman
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Time Passes
Time is passing while I am waiting
For true life to have some meaning-
Time is passing and I blindly
Count to ten upon my fingers-
Not knowing and not even able to distinguish
What is real from what is not?
One, two, three and the voices inside me won't stop commanding-
Four, five and six-
All I see are snakes within the bleakness and confinement of this room-
Seven, eight, and nine, and even through this dim light I believe I am being watched-
I count aloud to ten upon my fingers and
Time is passing and all that is all that I hear for the moment-
All that I see, I reach out to touch or to open my eyes to see-
Time has passed and everything is silent, without a trace of
Ever being near and once more I count,
Starting at seven, eight and then nine- watching the second hand on the wall clock and
Ten? Ten more hours to be locked inside of this empty, room where
The walls are barren and I am alone with my thoughts-
Time is passing and I would be running away, but there is nowhere to run to, except to
Places inside of my mind and one, two three and all that I see is
The walls of this empty room and a locked door-
I could count from one to a thousand and
Inside of this room I would remain- I could count to one million and
I would die before I even got there- so I count from one to three over and over because
Everything is seemingly easier when I am lost inside the world of my fantasies and
I realize now what is not truly real and threatening shall never harm me and
Time is passing and as I count, I am blissfully losing myself inside the world
I have made here inside of my mind for myself, alone…
This way time may pass even before the sun rises tomorrow, and then-and then?
My life perhaps shall have some meaning-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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I Can Have Both
Staring in the window of the shop that never opens
Planning my selection from all the treats inside
Should I take as I desire - oh shall i, oh shall I ?
Or should I hang around to be enticed inside ?
Im trying to explain to myself
I can have both
Im trying to explain to the voice inside
I can have both
I can have both
Theres nobody around to say no
Whove brain-washed the small shy boy inside
He doesnt know he can have both
Smiling through the window to the one who never serves you
Ive not been feeling myself tonight
Should I take as I feel like it - well shall i, oh shall I ?
Or should I wait and hope to be dragged inside ?
Oh ...
Im trying to explain to myself
I can have both
Im trying to explain to the voice inside
I can have both
I can have both
Theres nobody around to say no
Whove brain-washed the small shy boy inside
He doesnt know he can have both
I can have both
Theres no need to choose
Because
I can have both
Theres no need to choose
I can have both
Theres no need to choose
Because
I can have both
Theres no need to choose
I can have both
Theres no need to choose
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Examination Center
I am neither afraid of skyscrapers
nor of those huge architectural marvels & mansions
and the artistic, planned, laborious creations
of 21st century.
I am afraid of
that small room
where some desks and chairs
keep me glued
for three hours
in a bitter struggle
like between
life and death
absolute silence
turning the place in crematorium
and those two fearsome eyes
watching furiously
from a distance
I am afraid of
that piece of paper
with letters in black print
which can churn & agitate anyone's intellect
sucking the blood like a vampire
in three hours stint
I am afraid of that room
I am afraid of that room.
(2010)
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Marriage
Marriage for Esme began as a wide open room
with windows that let in the sunshine
and curtains so light and airy
they floated on the breeze.
Her husband's blue eyes would sparkle
with just a hint of mischief
and fun that they intrigued her,
made him special.
Then in the second year on her birthday
it seemed the room had grown dusty,
the curtains seemed dull,
the windows small.
And in the third year, without a doubt
the sun had gone down on her
and the room held a chill
like her aching heart.
By the fifth year, she'd aged,
her eyes had shadows, her skin had paled
and the room seemed small
with no windows at all.
She had shriveled, was withdrawn,
she'd sit in the corner of the room humming,
rocking back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth........
poem by Ruth Walters
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What In The World
Youre just a little girl with grey eyes
Never mind, say something
Wait until the crowd cries
Oh, wait until the crowd cries
Youre just a little girl with grey eyes
So deep in your room, you never leave your room
Something deep inside of me - yearning deep inside of me
Talking through the gloom
What in the world can you do
What in the world can you do
Im in the mood for your love
For your love
For your love
For your love
Oh
Im just a little bit afraid of you
Cause love wont make you cry
But, wait until the crowd goes
Oh, wait until the crowd goes
Im just a little bit afraid of you
So deep in your room, you never leave your room
Something deep inside of me - yearning deep inside of me
Talking through the gloom
What in the world can I do
What in the world can I do
Im in the mood for your love
For your love
For your love
Oh, what you gonna say?
Oh, what you gonna do?
Ah, what you gonna be?
To be real me, to the real me
Under the cool, under the cool and under having a ball
What you gonna say to the real me, to the real me
Ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhh
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Depicting Reflection
I gaze at the looking glass one final time
As I hope for some veritable truth to find
But the cracks run along my face in jagged lines
As the mirror cracks from side to side
Peering into the cold, dark faceted eyes
A broken poppet stares back from inside
And I catch a reflection of that I despise
As the mirror cracks from side to side
The scarred reflection is now forsaken
And many are the times my heart has died
But now it is my soul that is breakin'
As the mirror cracks from side to side
I gaze at the looking glass one final time
As the mirror cracks from side to side
poem by Sheri Hockman
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Outside331’sSleep
Don’t open your eyes yet not until I explain last night I went to bed with Sleep last night I fell for Sleep last night Sleep unclothed me left me naked in a room painted black I couldn’t see Sleep because Sleep was dark too and the room was black and the foreground blended in with the background I couldn’t tell what was far and what was close I became frustrated because Sleep was either hiding inside the room or the room was hiding behind Sleep neither were being fair to my eyes who wanted to play hide and go Sleep I hide inside the room and Sleep seeks I said where are you Sleep I can’t see you my eyes can’t find you Sleep I said I wanted to fall inside you brought me into this black room and I am trying to wrap myself around you won’t you come inside of me you won’t stage scenes in my eyes created with color everything is black one long stretch Sleep are you moving and I can’t see you or are you standing still and I can’t feel you are here Sleep you are silent Sleep I feel alone Sleep I want you to be inside me if you take me to a black room and make me go to bed are your eyes open I can’t see you did you leave is Sleep here Sleep am I inside you explain Sleep explain did you open your eyes Sleep are my eyes open Sleep are you outside me Sleep you took me to bed and left me Sleep I can’t open my eyes until you are back inside me I can’t see Sleep when you’re not inside me open your eyes Sleep do you see me inside you explain last night am I still inside Sleep?
(12-13-07)
poem by Chelsea Trescott
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There Is This Secret Room Of My Life
there is this secret room in my life
that will always be closed
it is mine, and no one gets in for in so doing
they shall find me
and if they find me inside this dark room
without windows
as they open and i am there and there will be too much light
to hurt my eyes
have pity
for i shall die.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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