Related quotes: her powerful voice is thunder...

Remembering A Poetry Teacher In High School

her powerful voice is thunder
arriving on time
in my quiet moment and
like a mushroom
i shed off all
my shadows to the cracking ground
rain
my spores lay ripe for
another seeding and
growth mushing
forth

she reads with all passion
the lines of Milton
and Shelly and lo!

blithe spirit in me flies
in the classroom

in my restlessness since then
i shall always remember her

she sowed the seeds of symmetry
metaphor enamored in semaphores

now i am sighing forever
looking for the right word to this unfinished poem
of my youth

old age comes
sans any thought of surrender

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes

A Poem Writes Itself

A poem writes itself
I merely follow
As it leads me
through the shadows

A poem seeks itself
And the light
I'll surrender …I write

A poem finds a way to be heard-
I try to remember each word from my
mouth to my ears to my hands
Then, to the world's

A poem finds a voice
I become, pen and paper

A poem makes a choice
I, the ghostwriter

poem by Sonya Florentino
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There Is Always Less Time....

creativity also says with both hands
banging its chest
'there is so much to do but there is
less time to do it'

living is always only for the moment
tomorrow is just a thought just like yesterday
a moment not remembered
the other one does not like to remember

'we mellowed down' quips the ripe
pomelo which has only a minute more to go
before it lands on the grass below.

'we didn't even have life' concludes the stone
stuck on the ground

'we are human beings, spare us some
more time; we have unfinished business'
thus pray the senior citizens
at Abbey Home.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shelly My Love

(1) Shelly my love
I only long to be where you are
Shelly my love
Now and forevermore
Shelly my love
When I see you I catch fire
And soon I'm all aflame
I feel it start
Whenever you call my name
(2) All around I feel a passion
That thrills my very soul
I put it down
To that I love you so
[Repeat (1)]
Oh Shelly my love
[Repeat (2)]
Oh Shelly my love
If this time I'm into somethin'
That is not of this world
The love I've got
It's supernatural, girl
[Repeat (1)]
Shelly, my love
Shelly, my love
Shelly, my love

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birth of art

The sponge in the sea
Seeding it with million spores
The night lit by a full moon

The spores
Appear as dust
Like a sigh like a breath
The sea is now
Full of millions of sponge spores

Comes maleness
Fertilization of the dusts
The birth of art
Bursting
Like the new corals
The sea flowers
In long crowded Array
On the ocean floors.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Too, Like An Unfinished Poem

an unfinished poem sounds like
an incomplete sentence
sometimes just a predicate without a subject
like love unrequited
a verb without a noun
an adjective so misplaced that
it calls for an adverb

it is more like a mouth
that opens but says only some syllables
though you as the reader
understands what the poet
wants to stress and mean and accentuate

for some parts of the poem are meant
not to be finished sometimes
in fact, they are meant to be concealed
and well covered like a bikini
to your.........or the prohibited love
you still keep in your........
or the memories that hurt you and are meant
to be unsaid.......you still want her not to
know..........

i, too, like an unfinished poem
like the sketch of your secret love many, many years ago,
once when you were young
the face is unfinished, you have not drawn the eyes
of that love so profuse that no canvass could ever contain

you still like this love unfinished, who knows
the ripe time comes and both of you
will finish
the unfinished love poem soon......

or some poems cannot ever be finished
because the words to complete them still
do not exist
or they are simply missing,
too lost like you,

they are not there yet to a feeling so new
so fragile and so indescribable.....
so rare........

and i, really, like it that way the poem
unfinishes itself

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love You Always Expect Love That Is Sweet And Enduring

we were once in love
i will not deny that
we make love almost every moment we look at each other
in the beach
in the camarin
in the house of your mother in the house of your friend
we like making love and we were content with what love is
for the time being
in the flesh,
we mature like some ripe fruits and we have no other option
like the fruit we fall
to the grounds of questioning ourselves
will this love be real even without the flesh
of the fruit?
will this love be true even without the leaves
of the trees?
will this love endure even when the tree is cut
because it will bear no fruit any longer?

i promise you love and i put the word there
forever,
but i never told you that there will be no pain
we compensate
we shall also be both broken......the sweetness shall not last longer,

but it is not the end yet, the sweetness shall linger in the memories
of our youth
when we wilt we shall be ready with our new seeds,
the rain shall make
the seeds grow again
time showers it with longings

and we shall now watch the flowers and the fruits
from a certain distance...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Surrender

Written: gerry deveaux, mole
Intro:
Come on come one
Ooh yeh
Ooh oh
1:
Come to me
And Ill surrender my love to you
Give in to your dreams
And remember my love is true
Come, well explore
Forbidden passions together
Chorus:
Oh baby
I surrender my love to you (surrender)
Oh baby
Just remember my love is true (surrender)
2:
Just remember, just remember
Time is right to be together
My love with you (surrender)
Not just for one night but forever (surrender)
Come, take my hand
Let me show you everything
Chorus:
(repeat 2 times)
Bridge:
Oh, hold me close
And we can ride together
Oh, you and I lust to love
Magic moments forever
Come to me
Come come come to me (surrender)
Come to me
Come come come to me
(surrender my love surrender)
Chorus:
(repeat & fade)

song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Can Wait Forever/ For the Ideal Poem That Will Never Come

One can wait forever for the ideal poem
That will never come-

Or relent,

And write down the lines
That come as they come
Irrelevant, incidental, momentary
As one's own feeling of oneself is.

Like the breeze of these instants,
Like the shadows of the leaves
As they trace their motions
On the sun- touched ground,

Like all which is passing
Without any real evidence of its moment's remembrance
As dying as oneself is
Forever.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Of Loss and Gain

Like pouring whiskey down a sink
Spilling coffee beans or ink
So do I drink my deeper life away

With papers laden on my knees
And fields to cross before I freeze
I sharpen up the millstones every day

Scattered seeds on smoking ground
Clattered keys of pianos sound
White on dark, turning black on grey

Cracking eggs upon one table
Casting notes as I am able
Let me out, I'm soaking from the rain

Kept by restlessness from rest
Tempted by childhood regress
Into the cage where songbirds go insane

Here the shadows toss the leaves
Winter hearts stand still to breathe
The shallow air, the things of loss and gain.

poem by Frank Bana
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The Poem Is A Metaphor

THE POEM IS A METAPHOR

The Poem is a Metaphor
It means ‘the world’
It means ‘all that there is’
It means ‘the soul’
It means ‘our deepest feeling’.

The Poem is a Metaphor
It is more than what it just appears to be
It takes on a life of its own
It says more than it can define itself as

The Poem is a Metaphor
And it itself does not understand
Where it began and how it will end
And whether or not
It should always be rewritten.

The Poem is a Metaphor
And we too are metaphors
That will vanish one day
When all the real Poems
Pretend to still be here.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Unfinished Business

Took a walk outside, the truth was on my side,
But I didnt even make the corner.
Revolution in my sights, the time seems so right,
But I never even saw it coming.
Cant let it go. oh no, no.
Cant you hear me call, bang my head against the wall,
Cant stay around this place forever.
Cant you see, we gotta be free,
We all gotta come together.
Dont let go, oh no.
Unfinished business,
You thought youd keep me quiet.
You put a bullet in my side, but you cant put out my light.
Unfinished business,
Yes, loves the only way to find peace today.
The futures here today, we gotta find a way,
To put all the pain behind you.
You gotta put down the guns, all religion is one,
Politicians only want to blind you.
Break away, oh theres a way.
Oh, the message is clear, wipe away all the tears,
And build a better world around you.
Got to give out your love to each and every one,
Cant you see its only fear that holds you,
Let it go. oh, let it go.
Unfinished business,
I though that I was right[? ].
What that fool put out that night, [? ] burn so bright.
Unfinished business,
Oh yes, loves the only way to find peace today.
So you thought youd take my life,
Put a bullet in my side, but you cant put out my light.
Unfinished business,
Loves the only way to find peace today.
Unfinished business
Unfinished business
Unfinished business
Theres a long road behind you,
Its a hard life if you make it one
Come on to the other side [? ]
There is no place to hide
Unfinished business
Unfinished business

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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ii. A traversal of the great rain maker

The children of men have come to me,
They say to me
'Give us our word for the rain,
And so to the rain.'

The rain maker stands, betwixt
The faces of men and their retinue of wealth,
And the liberty at the heart of the rain.
But the great man of thought…

'-The rain sleeps, when it wills
Let it be, lest
Its restlessness grows
Mightier than my chest -

'-Let men mourn with the rain,
As does the rain…'

poem by Igwe Kalu
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The lake of metaphor

and perhaps I came to poetry too late
to dive, a slimmish youth,
innocent as youth was or is
into the rich waters of the lake of metaphor
fed distantly by mountain springs,
welcoming in its wateriness,
chilling too like a demand for respect,
welcoming and chilling as a life;
a few strokes and already the green bank
and pile of crumpled clothes discarded
quickly distant, and here
in the middle of the lake, the sky
has opened out as if it were
some rival to a mountain-top

and the hands press against
the resistances of language, the palms
flat as between praise and surrender,
cleaving a passage to the depth
and then the shore of metaphor; and
emerging, the sunlight
catching the sparkling water droplets,
the skin shivering but invigorated,
the mind full of life
like a poem rich in metaphor.

Older now,
waiting as in the paintings of Saint Jerome
at his desk walled in by books,
pen poised, eyes uplifted,
spirit, rich, yet
mind not full, but waiting
for the grace of metaphor
like the brushing of a white dove's wing

poem by Michael Shepherd
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An Unpraised Picture

I SAW a picture once by Angelo.
“Unfinished,” said the critic; “done in youth;”
And that was all, no thought of praise, forsooth!
He was informed, and doubtless it was so.
And yet, I let an hour of dreaming go
The way of all time, touched to tears and ruth,
Passion and joy, the prick of conscience’ tooth,
Before that careworn Christ’s divine, soft glow.
The painter’s yearning with an unsure hand
Had moved me more than might his master days;
He seemed to speak like one whose Meccaland
Is first beheld, though faint and far the ways;
Who may not then his shaken voice command,
Yet trembles forth a word of prayer and praise.

poem by Richard Francis Burton
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(Better) Done Than Said

(better) done than said

the sounds between the lines
of the words i speak
reminds me of the lines
i spoke in thought and trials
and the lines
within the sounds of spoken word
touched mine heart
mine dreadlocks started skanking in joy
of the music in mine thought
but til done, i thought

next to mine were time and rhythm
for less than never it were missing
the sense to do than say
and mine legs kept me in transit
mine hands touched to pick a way
whence my eyes long seen
besides, talk were amass
done; far less
than which that caught mine
til done, i do and did
done than said

the inner mine person done me
a thought to catch mine power
and grab to proceed a synergy of our
own belief to mine self and stronger
than the sounds behind the lines
of the words i speak
but from the deep lines
of the metaphor, line by talk
with mine hands holding that thought
to keep it moving and done
long before said, as done

opn01112012/0849

poem: (better) done than said

'roots of mine tree' book no.12 of 2012
november 2012

ntema's unique poetry

poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Sweet Surrender

All the miles of glory really nothing to me
It's our love here, we are invisble again
Imagine how it goes, I believe in sweet surrender
And searching for so long, it will stay with me forever
No, I won't ever ask for your surrender
No religion and choruses again
But it won't leave me desolate and angry
Are there no poets in politics again
See the window upon the free world closing slowly
And poor men crawl upon your boney knees again
Imagine how it goes, I believe in sweet surrender
And searching for so long, it will stay with me forever
No, I won't ever ask for your surrender
Holy roller and passion play again
On this day that I don't care to remember
No religion and choruses again
Imagine how it goes, I believe in sweet surrender
I feel lost as a dying rose in embers
No religion and choruses again
No, I won't ever ask for your surrender
Are there no poets in politics again
No, I won't ever ask for your surrender
Holy roller and passion play again
On this day that I don't care to remember
No religion and choruses again

song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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War

As the drum rolls
end
the lightning
wanes
the trumpeter
solos
The Last Post
deadly spores
from mushroom clouds
fall gently
to the ground.

poem by Vince Gullaci
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When You Read This Poem

when you read this poem
silently like a prayer written
on the wall
of an ancient structure
and then when you pause
upon a word and begin
to ponder
like ' what is this poem really
trying to say? '
or ' does this poem have in some
way something to inform me
or touch me
or simply waste my time? '

rest assured this poem has
made you phrase some questions
not about you
or about me alone but
whether you believe it or not
this poem has become
a bridge between us
taking the shape
of a rainbow between two islands
and in a moment before you
begin to figure it out
or even know it
it is gone like a sigh passing you by
without any significance
and not worth remembering
but once
after you have read till the end

once there was this poem
and it seems to have no meaning at all
except a task
a journey that you have taken
arriving at nowhere
and giving you the essence of nothing.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A moment missed

Remember when I asked you out?
And how you shed a tear.
Remember how I told you.
That I'd stay for all those years.

Remember our first kiss?
Under a moonlit sky.
Remember the fireworks.
That shone in your eyes.