Some Aspects Are Irreconciliable
this is the story
you meet someone whom you think is very interesting
and you go to a busy place
buy beer and talk a while
the usual get to know scripts
more bottles to make
a certain familiarity
more words
and less periods
less question marks now
more of introspection
and then
all the questions are erased
the answers are too much to take
the conversations drag
and contempt comes at the last drink
'one for the road' the other says
you leave and you realize
home is always sweeter even without
anyone whom you at first think is very interesting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Because We Are Part Of These Mysterious States
to make you more interesting
(not just to myself but more of yourself)
i tell you something that you want to know
and you listen
and you like it and you begin to smile and
feel great about how i speak about you
because you are great and somehow you fail to see it
and never acknowledge it to yourself
before you sleep and at times when you see yourself
in front of the mirror and affirm
the reason why you are here because you pretend that you do not know it.
you are interesting and you belong with us all here
as we are interesting too
we feel the exclamations of our beings,
we are beyond the colors of the sea and the the land
and all that arise from them
we rise above them all
and we must confirm these phenomena of our
being what we must be.
tonight i will ask you some questions
and there will be no answers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Encounter...
in that encounter
the day becomes a mirror
as i begin to see every part of you in me.
the same eyes
longing for the outside game
the same feet wanting to walk all the edges of this earth
you are asking questions
that need the answers to the same questions over and over again
i play this game too
and even though i am bored i make you feel that this is interesting
i talk to fill the missing words in your mouth
and you listen
hoping to find inside me what you have been looking for
it will take a long time for you to know that i am just
another sea breeze
kissing sands and stones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Somewhere Down The Road
(Wayne Kirkpatrick/Amy Grant)
So much pain and no good reason why
You cried until the tears run dry
Nothing else can make you understand
The one thing that you held so dear
Is slipping from your hand
And you say
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
And why, why, why
And all I can say is
Somewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Though we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will have the answers
At the end of the road
Yesterday I thought I'd seen it all
I thought I'd climbed the highest wall
But now I see that learning never ends
And all I know to do is keep on walking
'Round the bend
Singing
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can say is
Somewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Though we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers
At the end of the road
Somewhere, somewhere down
And somewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Though we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
They will have the answers
At the end of the road
They will have the answers
At the end of the road
Somewhere down the road, yeah
Somewhere, somewhere
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere down the road
Why, why, why
There will be arms reaching, down the road
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere
Oooh
song performed by by Faith Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only Newcomers Make It Interesting
Only newcomers make it interesting,
To keep going around the same circles...
Over and over again.
Well...
Until they ask those familiar questions,
'Why does the doing of this,
Seem to have so much potential? '
AND...
My personal favorite,
'What is being accomplished...
By those who pride themselves in socializing,
As if to marvel their wealth of collected stagnation? '
Oh boy...
Here we go again!
Geeessshhh.
Only newcomers make it interesting,
To keep going around the same circles...
Over and over again.
Until...
Well,
They ask those familiar questions.
Excuse me.
It is not out of disrespect.
But I am making it my priority to leave.
We met.
And that was good enough for me.
Be well.
And...I mean that!
You have no idea how much.
And...
In the beginning they believe responses heard,
Are from those cynics quick with criticsms.
And the next time they are seen...
With glazed eyes and alcoholic breaths,
Is just one of many steps they will take...
During their travels through denial,
In a place that makes attempts to kill dreams!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In this business, my business, I get to meet all kinds of incredible people, fascinating people, glamorous people and sexy people and highly intellectual people. And you meet them and you go 'interesting, interesting, interesting'. They're interesting, but not very many people stop you in your tracks.
quote by Madonna Ciccone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too much familiarity breeds contempt
Too much familiarity, all the questions answered not just by yes or no
The explanations as demanded all enumerated, and there are no extrapolations needed,
At the last notice, I think I have spoiled you like my first lover,
In giving everything, everything is totally lost, and parting has become inevitable
With you now, I have given trust, but now with limitations however,
It is not selfishness, it is something else, it is to keep you because there is something in you
That makes me alive somehow, you make me breathe, and you have given me a space
Somehow, I must withhold a little bit about myself, to make this love work,
Now when you ask, I will either make some white lies, and later some big lies or be silent
So not everything in me is taken away, and you will think that I am not at all consumed
I am sweet, I will be sweeter still in some measurable unknowns, and you will taste these,
With a note, that not all that is sweet shall be given, some will be bland and even bitter,
I want to keep you for a while; we will be talking some more, like sweet lovers
Whispering nothings, I will confuse you a little bit about some beginnings, I will swerve
Away a little bit, away from your closeness, this too much familiarity that is slowly
Breeding contempt, this familiarity that destroys and has no power to recreate.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It's interesting to leave a place, interesting even to think about it. Leaving reminds us of what we can part with and what we can't, then offers us something new to look forward to, to dream about.
quote by Richard Ford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Reminder From A Son-in-law To His Mother-in-law
be kind to me
fake mama, do not say
words unkind
as i also leave words
sharp as mongol pencil
in my study table
to your harsh questions
i do not answer and to your answers
to my pleadings
i do not make any reply
this is the best arrangement of the furniture
behind it is the closed door and to that door knob
is the lost key.
there is the window glass
a little bit frosty
i see your face and body and in vagueness
you also see me
on those cold early mornings
when the leaves still own the dew
when the birds are still asleep
take note
we all become interesting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I get a script and it's really interesting with scripts, because you never really know. It's paper and it could be great or awful. Even scripts that are good could end up not working.
quote by Amanda Bynes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The people were just so lovely and accommodating and had really interesting questions and it was just interesting to see how the show is actually received in so many different countries.
quote by Shiri Appleby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything Is Still Alright
when you arrive
dinner is served
and we have a drink
of some bottles of beer
we have some desserts
and you say you love
every part of it
the longer nights
matched with our
conversations
we laugh a lot
and then you have
your bed and bath
warm as you describe them
two days and we tell you
have some more
and then you leave us
everything is alright
despite the fact that you
forget to say
thanks
perhaps you will justify
we never ask for it
at any rate we shall always say
welcome
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Those Years Of Separation.....
years separated us
when we meet again there will
be usual questions like
how is life? did you marry?
how many kids? how old are they now?
where do you work?
where do you live now?
i am tired of all these questions,
frankly i am not interesting and nothing interests me
perhaps
i was made sour by all those years,
but sometimes i may compromise
(but not a civil as you may think me to be) and
so i have my answers now, like
life is not really that miserable.
i got married, no kids only dogs in the house
(not applicable) ,
oh i work with a gavel,
and i live in my navel.
perhaps i am just dissatisfied with what
life has given me,
and you who claim to have kids like grapes
work like heaven, house like a castle,
and you who is like a story with a
happily ever after ending,
well, thank God, you are like everybody else,
you own a wife, and kids and house,
yourself is multiplied, your face is xeroxed,
your wealth is not just well preserved but
progressed like
hell,
you have chattels and servants and perhaps slaves
and submarines and nuclear weapons,
you have a brand new car,
an excellent paycheck,
by all means, to my mind, you are a superhero
and you have everything
everything
and yet, oh well, just like rest of the people in this world
you are never, never contented, you still ask for more
how much? how long? how wide? no one knows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The only interesting answers are those which destroy the questions.
quote by Susan Sontag
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The only interesting answers are those that destroy the questions.
quote by Susan Sontag
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The World Around Me
The world around me is a knife like a friend who
stabs you when you least expect it.
When the tensions are high,
and you have to cut through it.
And when you chop up your life,
to make it more interesting.
The world around me is a lecture,
being somewhere you don’t want to be.
Just sitting there zoning out,
into a better place.
Looking around not really noticing,
the people around you,
or what the say.
The world around me is a storm.
It will be nice one moment,
and the next it will be hectic.
Be waiting for that nice day,
but it don’t seem like it’s clearing up.
Wishing you could have that one nice day,
but the world wants it to be dark and unhappy.
The world around me is a story.
It can be long and interesting.
Or it can be short and boring.
Open the imagination and it can do wonders,
to any story.
poem by Chantel Braatz
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Question Me Now, My Children
Question Me Now, My children
Ask questions of me, my children
For time has a way…
Of slipping through fingers
Like reapers through hay
Your heritage is a treasure
That one day you’ll have need
Questions in need of answers
And no answers to heed
Was your great grandfather
A brown-eyed lad
Was your great grandmother
Perhaps a little bit mad
Ask about your ancestry
So interesting and rich
Was great aunt Sarah just an ol’ maid…
Or was she really a witch
How did they live the course of their day
And how the difference from yours
You live in a city, in a modern way
Perhaps they lived in the moors
How did your father meet your mother
What was their courtship like
And did grandmaw, elope with grandpaw
Did cousin Jenny marry up with uncle Mike
Did great-great grandmaw come from Ireland
Was her name “Whalen” changed from “Whelan”
By careless and lazy immigration officials
At a bustling and confusing, Ellis Island
Did these people bite their fingernails
Have a wart on their nose
Have children die prematurely
Enjoy happiness, suffer woe
Question me now, my children
For I get older, soon will come my time to go
And ‘twill be too late and ‘sadly twill be your fate
Of your rich heritage to ne’er know
Ask questions of me, my children
Before time takes me to task
Else when and what you wish to know
There will no one to ask
poem by David Whalen
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I don't know where you are.
All my messages have been erased.
And replaced,
By question marks.
For five years I saved each one.
And the other day I awakened...
There was nothing.
I had none.
And the email we shared,
And exchanged with one another.
Is gone!
Including every address,
I hung onto has vanished!
I don't know where you are.
All my messages have been erased.
And replaced,
By question marks.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Anna Questions Razel puppet
Anna Likes Razel puppet
who has no pupils in her dark eyes
Razel has dark hair and can turn dolls to ice.
Anna is happy to see me and play pretend games
Anna waited for me and Razel puppet to play.
Once play acting Anna would change Razel's name
to a character in her fantasy game.
Anna was the director and would tell Razel what to say
Razel would be instructed to use certain powers
to overcome the villain of the day.
We would act out her Pokeman character
and then we would stop playing for a while-
Anna would ask Razel questions like
'Razel why don't you smile? '
Even Razel puppet was amazed-
as Anna asked questions with a inquisitive gaze.
Another questions Anna asked is-
'Razel why don't you like Birthdays? '
Razel of course replied a sqinting evil eye-
I'm sorry to say, because my mother died.
She died on my birthday when I was a little girl
it changed the way I thought about birthdays
in my world.'
Of course every villain has a back story
Razel puppet's is drama filled not gory.
Then we would go to the outside playground
where play equipment was all around.
Anna asked me to talk Razel
with Razel not on my hand
I said I couldn't but now today I can.
Razel says 'Hi, Anna how have you been?
It was fun playing with you in 'let's pretend'
I am still an evil puppet, but that's what I want to be-
There would be no interesting story to act out for you & me.
The story would be boring if you didn't have to find interesting clues-
Clues to unfreeze the missing character friend who I turned blue.
Where do we find them and what really happened-
are questions asked in this land of pretend.
'So Thank You Anna for finding me interesting-
and playing pretend once so long ago with me.'
Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 21,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Einstein Man
'Sorrow, ' she said 'sticks to me like flypaper
follows me around, covers everything I try to do,
makes me cry into my beer.'
He said:
Now that don't seem true to me from here where I sit.'
She looked at him sideways and said:
'And how would you know that, seeing as how you don't even know me? '
'A man got instincts for these things, at least some of us do.'
'Men, ' she snorted, 'got instincts and its all below the waist, all.' she said.
He continued ignoring her, And you don't have to teach a bee how to like honey.'
She smiled at him, looking him over.
'What your name honey? '
She looked at him wide eyed and said:
You can just call me honey until I know you better, stalkers and all come in here sometimes.'
'Well.' he said you just might as well call me honeybee then.' he said smiling.
'Which makes me curious.' she said', 'is what are you doing in here anyway, you don't look all beat up like the rest of these jokers. You got a story or what? '
'Yes, I do have a story' he said after looking around furtively with his best spy vs. spy look, 'and what a story it is.'
'If you add popcorn and another beer I just might listen.' she said. I'm not busy now.'
He laughed and then smiled slowly, 'I think I was right about you honey, sense of humor too, that's sexy to a man.'
'Hold your horses cowboy, this here is just conversatin' and nothing more.'
He leaned back and stoked his chin.
'As far as I can remember I never had a home, wasn't even born I think. Just woke up one day on this planet.'
She laughed.
'No seriously.' he said. 'Happened just like that.'
'Now that gets my attention.' she said.
'Hoped it would, ' he said. 'Truth is I am Albert Einstein.'
She spittled her beer, laughing.
'My, my, ' she said you more interesting than a stack of hundred dollars bills, I say'
He looked at her sideways, and said, 'Not joking.'
To be continued
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Somewhere Down The Road
So much pain and no good reason why
Youve cried until the tears run dry
And nothing else can make you understand
The one thing that you held so dear
Is slipping from your hand
And you say
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can say
Somewhere down the road
Therell be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Tho we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers at the end of the road
Yesterday I thought Id seen it all
I thought Id climbed the highest wall
Now I see the learning never ends
And all I know to do is keep on walking
Walking round the bend singing
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can saysomewhere down the road
Therell be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Tho we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers at the end of the road
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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