En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Remembering Carlota De Pio

she walked into a desert room
where the window looks out
directly to the open galaxy
where shooting a star
is the only common game

and the only trees
she saw are open hands
without roots
the people maybe
had walked out from
there a long time ago

(but how did she really know?)

the only water there was a drop
hanged frozen
between the ceiling and the floor

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Has Faces

She has faces up in her bedroom and they gaze down on her guarding her slumber
A black bead rosary under her pillow and when it thunders she clutches it tightly
And she hears silence is white, sound is black, the world is wrapped in a paper sack
And when I leave I close the door to this galaxy of yours
Dropping by I open a window as the breeze blows in the curtains are butterflies
And we hear the church bells ring out on a hill and all of their echoes left us singing
Silence is black, the room is bright, our world is basking in tv light
And we are laid out on the floor of this galaxy of yours
With all of your heroes waiting in paper piles laid on the floor
I push my paintbrush lightly and fill in any empty nail holes
A dresser top, a jewelry box, colored tassels tied in knots
And a porcelain girl danced a music box ballet for us
And your nightlight is a star, or a firefly, that
Leads my gaze up to the ceiling
Wondering if you think that its the sky
With all of your heroes...
Open the window slightly, pick up paper off the floor
I hold my paintbrush tightly, and fill in any empty nail holes
Open the window slightly

song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Closed Door

on that day i lost the key
to the room
i waited for some solutions
breaking the locks
and open the door
or climbing on the other side
and entering through the window
but my arms for intrusion
are weaker now
my hands tremble at the thought
that once in my childhood
i did climb walls and break open
the window
and was so badly beaten

i keep on waiting for some solutions
until i realized that anyway
this is not my room and there is nothing
in there and so
not being that foolish
i simply walked away

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Gardener XIX: You Walked

You walked by the riverside path
with the full pitcher upon your hip.
Why did you swiftly turn your face
and peep at me through your fluttering
veil?
That gleaming look from the dark
came upon me like a breeze that sends
a shiver through the rippling water
and sweeps away to the shadowy
shore.
It came to me like the bird of the
evening that hurriedly flies across the
lampless room from the one open
window to the other, and disappears
in the night.
You are hidden as a star behind the
hills, and I am a passer-by upon the
road.
But why did you stop for a moment
and glance at my face through your
veil while you walked by the river-
side path with the full pitcher upon
your hip?

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Camel's Dream

When he deserted me
I deserted water
When I deserted the water,
it lost its shine crying.
Trees were growing dark in their places
in the woods; that evening he came to take me
with him clearing the thick glow of the sunset hues
then came he to make a path a kind of road
At the end of the road
I became the back he can ride
deserting many things I so long have to long for
while I look at the village
through those green trees
with my deep eyes
I saw him waiving at me
to bid me goodbye.
I was already entering the desert
and a portion of his road became the whole
the entire road for me.
For the borders of the nation he ruled
were the horizons of the four directions,
the sand hills I walk on with him on my back
were always the initial spot I had departed.
Numerous mornings and evenings met
on the rooftops of the sandhills where the
next morning and the sun crossed.
Originally what he wanted from me
was some amount of water he could use,
always in the shape of the water
I obeyed him.
At the same speed as the sunlight speedy
falls on the ground, stars fell.
With the power of the star-falls
the water soaked itself down to the ground
and then to
the roots of the sands.
Whenever his forehead shined
with full of heavenly words
and thirstied,
I dug up the roots of the sands
where the water gathers and kept it
in my body.

When the sun rose,
everything except the sands were
under the power of the sun;
when the wind blew,
everything along with the sands were
under the windy flows.
There I took out the water from my body
and washed his dry face.
When he loved me
I had a large amount of waters.
When he was communicating with someone
in heavens,
I listened to the music the sands were making.
Many trees were there with no shadows,
and the worlds I look through those trees were
always moving forward.
Through those trees the wind blew.
The thicket-bushes were weeping
and there came about some animals
who loved the bushes, and the one
who rides on my back
lets things to be ruled ruled
lets things to die dead.
He stands the trees and the animals
that resemble each other on their spots
then he passes by.
In the mean time he took out the water
from my body numerous times
and drank it to cleanse his body.
His songs made the sand hills
create echoes to echo
to ring through the regions afar.

When he finally changed the desert into the sea,
at its open entrance
I began to grow old all alone.
Though I wanted to serve him on the sea
he walked away from me
onto the sea.
Many years have gone by
and come along and
for me not to serve him on the sea
meant to go back to the desert, and
the sea had turned into the desert back again.
At its entrance to the sea,
I could not become a small boat for him.
All day long, I was lonely;
all night long, lonesome for days.
When he left me, I deserted the water,
I deserted again the act of deserting
and by deserting it, I no longer was left
to exist.

poem by by unknown author (22 June 2003), translated by Sangnam Nam
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Before a Fall

And what was the big room he walked in?
  The big room he walked in,
  Over the smooth floor,
  Under the sky light,
  Was his own brain.

And what was it he admired there?
  He admired there
  The oval mirror.

And what was it the oval mirror showed him there?
  It showed him the roots
  Through the ceiling,
  The gross armchair, the bookcase
  Shuttered with glass,
  The Hymns bound in velvet,
  The porcelain oven,
  The giant egg cups,
  The hairy needles,
  And the silence

  And the smell of smouldering dung
  Hung between the walls
  (Which were yellow as dandelion).

And how did he leave?
  On the smooth floor
  His neat feet jarred
  And his teeth grew down
  To his heart, and he slipped
  On the white stairhead -

Which ended?
  Which ended in coldness
  And darkness,
  Through which he fell
  (So they tell)
  With little hope, and slowly.

poem by Geoffrey Grigson
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Shooting Star

VERSE:
Johnny was a school boy when he heard his first Beatles song
Love Me Do, I think it was and from there it didn't take him long
Got himself a guitar, used to play every night
Now he's in a rock & roll outfit, and everything's all right
BRIDGE:
Don't you know?
VERSE:
Johnny told his Momma, Hey Momma I'm goin' away
I'm gonna hit the big time, gonna be a big star someday
Momma came to the door with a tear drop in her eye
Johnny said, Don't cry Momma smile & wave goodbye
CHORUS:
Don't you know, yeah, yeah
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you know, don't you know
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
And all the world will love you just as long
As long as you are
VERSE:
Johnny made a record, went straight up to number one
Suddenly everyone loved to hear him sing the song
Watching the world go by, surprisin' it goes so fast
Johnny looked around him and said, Well, I made the big time at
last
CHORUS:
Don't you know, don't you know
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you know, woah yeah
Don't you know that you are a shooting star, yeah
And all the world will love you just as long
As long as you are, a shooting star
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you know, ahhh
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
And all the world will love you just as long
As long as you are
Johnny died one night, died in his bed
Bottle of whiskey, sleepin' tablets by his head
Johnny's life passed him by like a warm summer day
If you listen to the wind, you can still hear him play
Woah...
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you know, don't you know
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you know
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you, don't you, don't you, don't you, don't you know
Don't you know you are a shooting star
Na, na, na, na..

song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Expatriates

My dear, it was a moment
to clutch for a moment
so that you may believe in it
and believing is the act of love, I think,
even in the telling, wherever it went.

In the false New England forest
where the misplanted Norwegian trees
refused to root, their thick synthetic
roots barging out of the dirt to work on the air,
we held hands and walked on our knees.
Actually, there was no one there.

For fourty years this experimental
woodland grew, shaft by shaft in perfect rows
where its stub branches held and its spokes fell.
It was a place of parallel trees, their lives
filed out in exile where we walked too alien to know
our sameness and how our sameness survives.

Outside of us the village cars followed
the white line we had carefully walked
two nights before toward our single beds.
We lay halfway up an ugly hill and if we fell
it was here in the woods where the woods were caught
in their dying and you held me well.

And now I must dream the forest whole
and your sweet hands, not once as frozen
as those stopped trees, nor ruled, nor pale,
nor leaving mine. Today in my house, I see
our house, its pillars a dim basement of men
holding up their foreign ground for you and me.

My dear, it was a time,
butchered from time
that we must tell of quickly
before we lose the sound of our own
mouths calling mine, mine, mine.

poem by Anne Sexton
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Walk By

ock and roll!

she walked down to the store at 8
the devil walks with her and he thinks shes great
when he looked at me i dont know wat i saw
i think hes trying to make me his son in law

when she walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by
walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by

egos fly and she walks by
she caught my eye on october ninth
thats 22 days before halloween
how did i know shed be my evil queen

when she walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by
walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by

my mother warned me against girls like you
she said stay away from them son you know they arent true
all there gonna do is put you under their spell
and when your going down your going straight to hell

walk by
walk by
walk by
im gonna walk on by
walk by
walk by
walk by
im gonna walk on by

walk on by

walk on by

walk on by

walk on by

song performed by by Good Charlotte from Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The writers room

The writers room
~
the walls lined with books
a thousand written worlds
open pages litter the floor
ready to begin a new journey
light cascades through window
across the unused bed
a room alive does not sleep
pictures and tokens spread out
points of memory and inspiration
shelves climb to the ceiling
hoarding words and lives
a writers room, paradise
a place to sit read and write
inspiration comes from life
and life is about discovering
all that is beautiful
however ugly it appears
look through the pages
of an open mind

poem by Matthew Holloway
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BREAKING THE DOOR OPEN (revised)

on that day when i lost the key
to the room
i waited for some solutions

perhaps i shall break the lock
or smash the door or remove the door jams
or climb on the other side of the house
and enter through the window

but my arms for breaking
are weaker now

my hands tremble at the thought
that once in my childhood
i did climb a wall and break open
the window
and was so badly beaten
that i could hardly stand and walk
back home

i keep on waiting for some solutions
until i realized that anyway
this is not my room of destiny

and there is nothing
in there that is worth my trouble

and so
not being that foolish enough
(or hopeless to say the least)

i simply walked away
with nothing on my shoulder to carry

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Walked Barefoot...

she walked barefoot,
across them factory floors,
down that gravel road,
across the yard,
and into that old house.

she walked barefoot,
across them kitchen floors,
down that long hallway,
across the floor to the bed.

she walked barefoot,
between them garden rows,
out in the fields,
down through the pines
to the creek.

she walked barefoot,
down them hospital halls,
down the aisles of the church,
out in the cementary
to the grave...

she walked barefoot,
into the arms of eternity,
and i'd give all i am
to wash her feet
with my tears!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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What You Do Not Expect....

you are on your
way to the tenth floor
go inside
the room and closed
the door
open the window
and get some fresh
air from
the sea
you sit on the
window sill
and the people
down the street
go panicky

you are whistling
a song
and all the while
they are praying
that you do not
jump
from that
high....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wishing on a shooting star

I wished upon a shooting star
As it went through the sky,
I wished upon a shooting star
As it shot right by.

I wished upon a shooting star
That my prayers would all come true,
I wished upon a shooting star
And then I thought of you.

I wished upon a shooting star
And noticed I was crying,
I wished upon a shooting star
And realized I was dying.

I wished upon a shooting star
But my wish never came true,
I wished upon a shooting star
And hoped it would get me through.

I wished upon a shooting star
That the she would still be there,
I wished upon a shooting star
That she would always care.

I wished upon a shooting star
Here in this night sky,
I wished upon a shooting star
That our love will never die.

poem by Xx Charmer Xx
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L8,2212

There is a door which you open

you enter, and then it closes you
behind you
forever,

there is no force here,
but only volition,

you enter it
with all the warnings,
that the
possibility that it will close forever
has been told to you
over and over
again,

somehow, you do not make it a problem
you like a closed door, and you hate it
when it opens,
you love it when it is closed forever,
the room is nice
there is a certain loveliness
in there,

it has shiny floors,
it has a bright ceiling,
the lights are lovely,
like stars
in an open dark sky

the air is fresh,
the walls are comfortable

who wants to take an exit?

no one.not you.

when the door knows this, it will open
forever,
it decides to open for you
and it will tell you to go out and be
an outsider again and
be gone
for good,

you insist that you own this room now,
that a closed door is not a serious matter
and there is no way that you have to
go out
or be ousted,

the door has a stair with strong hands
and it will drag you out
it will pull your hair and drag your body
like hell

the door has learned its lesson
when the room is not a prison to someone else
there is no use keeping him there forever
for in truth the reason of the door's
existence
is to make you feel the prison and to suffer

and you know your lesson too well
there is no prison to a mind that is an open window
there is no suffering
to a lover of suffering

you see, it takes a little reverse psychology
for closed doors to open
for men to know that suffering is not suffering
at all
when one loves is tripping

when one thinks
otherwise
when one loves whatever happens

when one accepts
the one that is there and not look for something
that is always missing

why go for the unreachable?
why suffer for long?

life is life, and death is death
you are here, grab this here.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About An Open Window

let me now talk about an open window
the one that lives in that room
where the window is open
be it day or in the dangers of the night
its blackness threatening
it was even rumored that a monster flies
and eats the sweet flesh of women

is a woman, oh, she is as beautiful as
the north star that guides lost pilgrims
oh, she is as sweet as the honey of cultured
bees, she as as tender as treated beef,

her window is always open
waiting for the full moon
to make love to her once a month
when she too is on heat
like a wild, wild beast.

that monster brings the moon
and beastly, the beautiful woman knows what love
is there
by the window that is always kept open
because it fears no one
her lover
the beast, none other.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Hands Are Stronger Now

she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.

She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.

How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?

Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.

Life is over.
Game is over.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hope Is An Open Window

(christopher ward/tim tickner/diana ross)
Are we not more than hunger and music
Are we not more than harlequins and horns
Are we not more than color and drums
Are we not more than anger and dance
Give me courage so I can spread it over my face and mouth
Give me courage, give me courage
Give me courage, give me courage
I walk these city streets see the people there
Look into the eyes of quiet despair
And the faces tell a story that words never can
And it falls to everyone of us to try and understand
Out of kindness
One act of grace makes the world we walk a better place
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
We build walls of suspicion with bars of fears
Tell ourselves well be safe in here
I know more brings us together
Than keeps up apart
First we got to tear down these walls within our hearts
We might be strangers, we can be friends
You and I we both need to let somebody in
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
Give me courage so I can spread over my face and mouth
We are secret rivers with shaking hips and crests
Come awake in our thunder so that our eyes can see behind trees
Give me courage so I can spread over my face and mouth
Give me courage, give me courage
Give me courage, give me courage
Hope is an open window
Loves an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
Gotta be there for each other
Is what we sent here for
Through an open window
We can find a way
To love one another
Hope is an open window
Love an open door

song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Aviator

Riding on the moonpath
In the silver of the night
The fragrance on the air
Was of another time
I cried in all my innocence
You were dressed in white
And even if Id had the strength
I couldnt move to save my life
The fear and the thrill
Of the beast at the window
The shivers and the chills
On the hottest of nights
He walked right through
My open door
As I began to run, he threw
Some gold upon the floor, and said
Theres plenty more
Where that came from
Im tired of the bombs
Im tired of the bullets
Im tired of the crazies on tv
Im the aviator
A dreams a dream whatever it seems
I flew along the lighted street
I flew above the town
I flew in ever rising cicrcles
Ever further from the ground
As I begin to lose my breath
Printed faxes turn a spin
A distant corner of the room
Will open up and let me in
Im tired of the news
Im tired of the weather
Im tired of the same thing every day
Im the aviator
A dreams a dream whatever they say

song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Were The One

(g. wright/k. patterson)
Yes I believe in fairy tales
And all my favorites come true
The handsome prince rides in
And he sweeps me of my feet
And then it turns out to be you
Baby, I am the romantic kind
But youre the hero in my eyes
I knew when you walked into the room
You were the one, you were the one
You are bringing me the sun and the moon
You were the one, you were the one
Though I dont think that it was just by chance
You must have felt it like I did
It was enchantment with just one glance
A fantasy we both can live
Into the sunset you and me
Just like an old harlequin movie scene
I knew when you walked into the room
You were the one, you were the one
You are bringing me the sun and the moon
You were the one, you were the one
I knew when you walked into the room
You were the one, you were the one
You are bringing me the sun and the moon
You were the one
It was you, yeah
It was you
It was you
I knew when you walked into the room
It was you
You are bringing me the sun and the moon
It was you, yeah, you were the one
You are bringing me the sun and the moon
You are the one, you are the one
I knew when you walked into the room
You were the one, you were the one
You are bringing me the sun and the moon
You were the one, you were the one

song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Past a house

We yesterday
drove past a house
near a shopping centre

and at the front wall
the plaster was broken,
the garden that was something
at a time
was treaded to pieces
and left uncared.

The front door hanged decaying
and when my eyes
walked down the corridor
some of the ceiling was missing,
and the wooden floor
was being used for firewood

It seemed as if the house
was now really becoming a ruin
and a naked black toddler
were crawling outside

and a very thin dog
looked as if it never got food
and my darling said:

“We stayed here at a time
and once this house
belonged to us
and it was a beautiful place
and just see how it looks now.”

poem by Gert Strydom
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