Remembering The Smell Of Youth
smooth pillow, warm blanket,
a woman's body so white
and calm
light is shun by the door of the room
on closed silk curtains by the window
i still taste the youth in spring
its perfume still remaining in the air
late at night, the same smell
comes even in my sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spring Sleep
Pillow low quilt warm body smooth and steady
Sunshine room door cloth not open
Still have young spring air taste
Often brief arrive sleep at come
The pillow's low, the quilt is warm, the body smooth and peaceful,
Sun shines on the door of the room, the curtain not yet open.
Still the youthful taste of spring remains in the air,
Often it will come to you even in your sleep.
Alone On A Stormy Night
flashes of lightning
roaring thunder
heavy rains and
flooded highways
the street lights are off.
there is total darkness
the strong straight light of the car
guides me towards home.
i park the car beside the
the house. I get out and
open the front door.
winds blowing stronger
the veranda is drenched
the gutter with leaves
overflows with water.
i open the door of my room.
undress myself and wipe my body.
i am dry. Silent. Uncomplaining.
i am finally alone.
I decided not to argue. Not to think.
Relax. Sleep. Dream.
Too much reason, too many arguments
When what i need is only this pillow
This blanket,
A window closed. A safe house.
A glass of water perhaps. But later.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Dating A Woman Not Your Wife
oh i know how it feels
i wear black
a coat to blend to the night
when i date
a woman not my wife
i imagine a room
a bottle of champagne
a glass
i imagine i undress myself
have my shower
with her
together
we clean ourselves with soap
and water
at the hotel
and then we wipe ourselves
with a clean white
towel
and we spray perfume
to our warm bodies
we imagine
we sleep tonight
and do
the things we have long imagined
we imagine
we wake up the following morning
some light
filtering in
the venetian blinds
some lights
stab our eyes
and we feel the hurt after
the pleasures
that even outside the room
of the hotel that night
we still imagine
sometimes we imagine we have no guilt at all
but it is always there
we still imagine
and we imagine we can sleep soundly
on eyes closed
we travel somewhere else thinking about the first paradise
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Last Night I Dreamt Your Perfume
Last night I dreamt your perfume
While I held you in my hand
Last night I dreamt your perfume
You will never understand
The way you make me feel
The promise that you give
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Lost in those dreams I live
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Arched fingers cupped your breast
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Felt your warm breath brush my chest
With gel coat slide I gripped you
Sensation through my veins
Last night I dreamt your perfume
She who bears no name
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Your body meshed with mine
Last night I dreamt your perfume
A guilty pleasure, sweet, sublime
Quiet by my pillow
Your touch I never feel
Last night I dreamt your perfume
This morning, wished you real
poem by Bill Smith
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The Room
(chris waters/tom shapiro)
When I pull in the drive where your car used to be
It doesnt hurt me like it used to
I can walk through the door, and not wonder anymore
Where you are, like I used to
I can go down the hall, see the pictures on the wall
And not miss you
But I just cant bring myself to go into..
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Id remember too much if I opened that door
And Im not sure if I could face it
The beds emptiness would remind me youre with
Someone else, and I couldnt take it
So, I sleep on the couch in our living room now
Since our love died
cause Im still not ready yet to go inside...
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Where the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My angel, I love to watch you sleep........
When the night comes then your voice calm down
When the moon begin to sail in the sky
then your eyes are closing down to sleep
You fall asleep while dim light illuminates your room
I love to watch you sleep my little girl
You sleep like a little angel within your dreams
Your hair falls both sides of your face and
your hands folded in to the blanket
Your pillows and bunnies are speard around you
You breath soft and low while your innocent heart
beat slowly to the merry tune
I love to watch you sleep my little baby
When I want to kiss you to say good night in your sleep
then you toss your head and stretch your little body
and turn around sleep again while holding your pillow
God brought you to me and given you as his gift
and today you are the greatest treasure in my life
Someone to laugh and dance and sing in my home
I love to watch you sleep my angel
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright @2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All Fetal.....
after i have written so much
the night will be deep and dark
and then when i go into the room
it will be so silent
that i can hear the whisking of a
bug on the floor
on the rug
and she will be soundly asleep
tightly curled
around herself
the bed is wide and the blanket is thick
the sound of the night wind is not that horrible
as i may have thought that much
the light is dim and
the room smells significantly nothing
like artificial orange or a fake
lemon
i too shall curl inside myself
cover everything in me with that separate thick blanket
and take my much needed sleep
it is a very late hour and the hands of the clock are tired
and the light will be completely turned off in such a way
that i see nothing at all
not even feeling that i have a soul
this is what we are now
all genetically
fetal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode to her skin
i want to walk out into the night
and cross the two streets
between us
I'll sneak into your room
and turn on every electric light.
light will be everywhere, filling the corners -
from the ceiling, from your desk, up from the floor
beside your bed, out of the fishbowl,
light light light light dribbling down the walls and
puddling into the folds of your warm blanket.
then,
when i can look at you from every bright angle,
I'll find you a new name,
something that fits close to the skin;
smooth, sleek, low cut
something, anything but
'beautiful' -
poem by Marie Love
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Tell Me
Tell me, tell me, tell me what hides behind my skin—
Like whatever's in a window when you're in a room
Watching the curtains flutter in the wind.
Tell me how the weather is
When you're looking outside to somewhere open
With cloudless skies and blue space covering.
Tell me if it's warm where you come from
Or where my thoughts of you come from,
And tell me if the sun drapes over the horizon
And deep into the orange, dusted canyons.
Tell me if there is something
Like a garden, blooming with the spring
Of my youth, next to something sort of like an ocean,
Or something relaxing, with the waves parting,
And something I like, though I don't know what that is.
Tell me about the white nowhere
That percolates through my pores and from my dreams,
And between the no language of tongue speak,
And blank canvases and whatever I wondered
Would remind me of you.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Idea Not As A Ray Of Light....
an idea is not always a ray of light
it can be a mirror under your bed beside your shoes
reflecting a ray of light from a leak of the wall
of your room dressed with curtains
when you lie there thinking about nothing
saturated about this modern opulence without
any efflorescence at all
you face the window
as usual you have closed it
there is no light there is only this faint sound
of the wind
this suppressed sobbing of lamentation
there is no light at all
and so the idea about faintness and fading
becomes a Sensurround
evidently it has lulled you to a deep
sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Love That I Have For You....
outside i watch you
you are inside yourself
a room
a wall but there is window still
that allows light
to come in
and dress you like
a night without the armor
i am the light
and i like the way things are going with us
you just do not know
what is it
to be just light
without a body
what is it to have so many fingers
& yet
without a hand
the room is darker
but i know what it is to be a tiny sun
you fan yourself with your
innocence
your hands are callous
and it is a little bit colder
when by chance you touch my
rays and sheen
when i meet you
like i am water bathing your body
as i dress you once again
with the cloth
of my silk
soul
i quiver like a soft wind
on the reeds
of the moonlit night
i love it this way
this invisible presence
this nameless light
this desire that fulfills itself
without you
feeling it
must i be selfish?
or must i be the one that does not let you suffer
because you cannot love
light
because your coldness is uncertain about the gift
of warmth
its truth beyond all truths
when i am done with you
i summon the rain
& bathe myself again
to wash away
the dirt of guilt
the scars of pain
though
remaining
look at me
i am the morning light that spreads on the garden
of your thighs and
legs
as you watch
with all delight
you only see the wonder of light
and its accompanying music
and then
satisfied with all the caresses of thoughts that i have always loved you
i go with the herds of rain
and what is left to please me more
is your own
fading face
like those ripples on the pond
that the lonely leaf
had given
the shape of love that i carry with me
as air embracing the heavens
again....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Pillow Hot
The pillow hot
On both sides,
The second candle
Dying, the ravens
Crying. Haven't
Slept all night, too late
To dream of sleep...
How unbearably white
The blind on the white window.
Good morning, morning!
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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The Smell of Purple is in the Air
Late Spring, Early Summer
Breeze Blowing Along with the light Misty Rain
Ah.....How wonderful the smell
So Fresh, So Crisp
Reminding Me of Grandma's Homemade Pie
Ah.....That Breeze Blows letting the Smell glisten through the Air
Right into My Window, Soft as a Rabbit's Fur
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
I just lie back on the bed and relax
That smell brings a Calm Peaceful feeling over me
Peace...
Ah....How great that feels...
Wonderful
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
Field of fresh Blueberries...Bushes Full
Sweet, Soft, Spring, Summer
Breeze Blowing, The Mist of Rain
Ah....Bring on the peace...The Wonderful Feeling
Beautiful..... Is that ' The Smell of Purple is in the Air '
poem by Lorene Erwin
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Pillow
I try to get comfortable in my bed
But there's always something wrong
with the pillow ‘neath my head.
It's either too warm or sometimes too cold.
I turn it, pummel it
Then toss it aside instead.
But then I miss it and can't decide
Shall I grab it again
Or count to ten?
How can I sleep with no support?
My neck gets stiff. My eyes won't close
And all because of the pillow I chose.
Maybe I need a silk pillowcase,
one that's fringed with fancy lace.
Or maybe it's not the pillow to blame.
Maybe it's my head that's not the same.
It's filled with words and melodies
That makes my pillow hard to please.
I'll try to get comfortable again tonight.
It's my head on that pillow
or a pillow fight.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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When You Are Sleeping
i look carefully at the restive pose,
hands on the side, the head inclined towards the window
the breathing breast is as calm as the sunset sea
the eyelashes like a silk skirt on the side of the eye
nothing covers you except the soft breeze
your hair spreads like the gentleness of the night
your naked feet rests on the white pillow
your lips curl like a bow to its arrows
love hits me again and i am vulnerable
to its caresses, as i stand and hold the frame of this window
out there is the wide wild world of my dreams
where i do not belong anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Last Night I Was Talking To Myself
last night i was talking to myself
asking and making answers
like the way i make a knot and
then untie them from a cemented
post at the port
so that the wooden boat
may finally be let loose
and be free to sail
to its chosen destination
the sea was so wide
like all seas that you have seen
but the night was so dark
like no other
last night i was formulating solutions
to a very common problem
like how to cure a cold
with just a glass of water
like how to appease the coldness
of a room with nothing but
a piece of a woolen blanket
and curling feet and
hiding hands in my pocket
so i can have the exact warmth
so i may finally have my much
needed sleep and
dream about the peace
between the clouds
and the stars
last night i could not sleep
and you are beside me
last night i opened the window
of our room while you
were there snoring
last night i was silently
talking about the absence of
stars the loss of the moon
and then the rain fell
heavily on the roof of this house
and then i closed the windows
and then i listened to every sound
and then i noticed a faint light coming
from a leak of these walls
i know
another morning has finally
come
it is broken they say.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nantucket
Flowers through the window
lavender and yellow
changed by white curtains –
Smell of cleanliness –
Sunshine of late afternoon –
On the glass tray
a glass pitcher, the tumbler
turned down, by which
a key is lying – And the
immaculate white bed
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Woman
If I'd be so inclined to climb up beside you.
Would you tell me that the time just isn't right?
And if I ever find the key you hide so well
Will you tell me that I can spend the night?
Leaving your smell on my coat.
Leaving your taste on my shoulder.
I still fail to understand,
What it is about this woman.
If I could bottle up the chills you give me.
I would keep them in a jar next to my bed.
And if I should ever draw a picture of a woman,
It is you that would come flowing from my pen.
Leaving your clothes on the floor.
Making me walk out the door
And I still fail to understand
What it is about this woman.
Hopelessly melting as I stand next to the sun.
As she burns me, I am screaming out for more.
Drink every drop of liquid heat that I have become,
Pop me open, spill me out onto the floor.
Leaving your smell on my coat.
Leaving your taste on my shoulder.
I still fail to understand,
What it is about this woman.
Leaving your smell on my coat.
Leaving your taste on my shoulder.
I still fail to understand,
What it is about this woman.
song performed by by Maroon 5
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking Forever
it seemed to him
that he'd been walking forever...
the night was brisk and cool....
a half moon, and a few stars.
every step he took he let go
of something else....
all the things he'd thought he needed....
all the things that got in the way!
pride, hurt, anger, need, and
all the images he had of what should be.....
he walked up to the door, and knocked....
she opened the door just a crack...
'what do you want? '
'i just want to hold you,
to feel you close...
to smell your smell,
to taste your taste....
to listen to you breathe
in the darkness...
to hold you while you sleep....
that's all i want,
and the world can go to hell! '
she opened the door,
...and let him in!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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