Some Hidden Lines of The Traveller Who Just Arrived
faraway
no one is talking to you.
you are
shuttered like an open
window
there are leaks
you cover it
with silk cloth
smooth silence
gleaming colors
of gray
like the body of
a catfish
and reddish
bloody
imagination
turn to pink
my blue day
and admire the
transformation of
your thoughts
like a twilight
there is this orange
that smells like
an orange
because it is
orange
you touch it
and peel it and
taste it
juicy existence
palatable life
dripping sweetness
crushed pulps
bursting bits
soft bites
the room changes into
a home
and you lay your head
on the pillow
thinking good about
the ceiling
it is not the harshness
of the wall anymore
there is no obstacle to thoughts
piercing to the
wood and playing with
the light
bulb
things go and become a lively game of
shadows
the lizard and the fly become
one in
that chance
of
predator-prey
relationship
i guess i must have been too personal
that the mirror
fails to relate anymore
to a face
facing it
all day long
waiting for no one
there is no letter somehow
in fact, there is no one inviting
or invited
where am i now? what mistake have i done
to the books?
did i betray the pages
and argue myself with those
ears?
so long. so long.
I've been hiding and the pain of putting my head
inside the bag
that having to breathe so hard
in the sacrifice
of monks and
novices.
i am letting go a part of my index finger
the baby
does not have to notice it
since it is
asleep like a fish inside
the tank of water
figure out then
why am i doing this
writing for nothing else
but selfishness
offering kindness
where it is not needed
actually
i am playing with fire
like an eater
there is no one hurt
in fact
everyone enjoys it
like a show in the circus
my mouth smells like gas
babbling tongue
my soul is burning and i do not want it
put off.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Red And Orange
Ther's a red house,
Inside there's an orange door.
Beside that there's a red carpet,
On top of an orange floor.
There's a red table,
Below an orange ceiling.
Upstairs there's a red bed,
Inside an orange room.
There's a couple of red people sleeping soundly,
Next door two orange ones too.
Outside there's a red truck,
No one knows what to do.
I don't see the proble,
Why don't you leave us all alone.
But now I see the red more clearly,
And I know what's done is done.
And I'll float away with the cloudy smoke,
Before the inevertable happens and I start to choke.
Good bye red house,
So long orange door.
I'm going for a long sleep noe,
Six feet under the floor.
An Orange Cat With One Eye
a one-eyed orange cat
(not really a kitten anymore)
likes me so much
that every morning the moment
i open my door
leading to a stone garden
it always comes to me
singing like a bird
as though saying
good morning master
it rubs his orange body
beside my leg and it feels
so smooth
like fine silk to my
hard skin
i feel the guilt of humanity
who the hell
removed its right eye
where did this one-eyed orange
cat come from?
God-given
must be.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Swaggering Thoughts....
I've been writing about
what i have not told you
or never shall it tell each
part of this roving whole
this whale in my belly
these planktons in my mind
at a certain point
there is that predator and
prey page of my life
that you shall not ever read
and this gives me
my dream of
freedom where i am myself
without your
knowing
i am always myself
but my touch to your cheek
shall not tell it
there is always an inside
story
on a writer's documentary
episode
this face that has not given
you the clue
of that brewing revolution
inside the world
drawn by my eyes
into the labyrinths of
my intestinal
anxieties
acidic storms
spasmodic series
soon someone shall tell you
and hand you the maps of my
journey and you shall be surprised
what places have i visited
without you
i fear that hour of
revelation where i shall become
completely a stranger
to you
where your hands shall shake
when your tongue dislikes the
taste of my
existence
my flavor is as bland as
old age
you will tell your friends on
one of those parties-
'oh, he is like that
he is an imagination of my mind
he is a mist in the mountain
he is the fog
that hangs on one of the trees'
and you assure them
this matter will just come to pass
an ice melting
seeping on one of those porous rocks
and then be
invisible to the layers
of rain on a sunny day
nothing is surprising anymore
everything is as normal as
switching light to a room when
the night comes without
any excuse
after denial, you know what comes
next
wholehearted acceptance
no matter how silly
how sinful perhaps
i like it this way-
'i am a thought, you can always dismiss
me
as a foam of the mouth
of the guy who
is suffering from
seizure
a whiffing cream
on a home baked cake
a dew on the morning's leaf
an orange
appearing with a glossy skin
beside an afternoon
window...'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Orange juice kiss
A circle of dried, sweet orange juice
Finger to mouth, the taste memories seduce
Memories of that sweet orange juice kiss
Thoughts race to the past and days of bliss
The giggling young angel standing at the bedside
The past and the present, emotions collide
Those glorious hours playing in the park
Warm sunny days before the onset of dark
When long summer day’s end and it’s time to rest
Sweet angel climbs up and lays head on my chest
If there’s one memory that brings me this bliss
It’s the memory of that sweet orange juice kiss
poem by Brian 'Peza' Perrins
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Orange
I hold in my hand my last source of food
I squeeze it in my mouth
the sweetness envelopes my taste buds
growing increasing the ever small size of my belly
letting the taste of this orange last as long as possible
the orange becomes dried up
no more food to be found on the island
poem by Jessica Roberts
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Asylum
My tears are blue,
My eyes, Purple, green and black-
Yours, I do not know the color of-
I may have met you before in some dark alley-
Your eyes are shut as you sleep- You, I do not know.
All eyes are upon me now- Orange, blue and yellow-
The sky is green and clouds are maudlin-
Blood falls from eyes of sorcerers,
Tears, blue as deep sea water- falling from my eyes,
My eyes are purple, green and black.
Trapped inside a place unknown-
Unknown to my spirit's heaven-
Locked inside this devil's paradise- I cannot fathom reality.
I weep blue tears, combining with the blood
Pouring from the ceiling so dank and dark-
Turning purple and magenta, in hue-
Your lips are red- red as rage,
My hair is dark and dark as is Satan's advocate's
Please somebody rescue me!
My tears are blue, my eyes,
Purple, green and black- the color of yours
Still remains a mystery- When shall you awaken?
Only in good time, my friend, only in good time-
The face of the clock on the wall is orange - Its hands lost in space-
I am lost and beside myself- while you sleep-
We are locked inside of an asylum- I heard-
You are sleeping, still as the locked door before us-
I wonder, are you dreaming or are your dreams turning to nightmares-?
My ears are ringing, I am blue- they just told me through the keyhole that
I am locked inside the world of my delusions?
Through your eyes I could read your thoughts but
Your eyes are closed as you sleep- and my eyes, are closed to the world.
Colors and more colors before me, my tears are blue,
I am blue-please release me from my pain.
I know I have been told in time I will be but the clock upon the wall
Has no feelings-just decorating this chamber of hell with
Its bright orange face as my blue tears fall
Onto the urine stained floors of this confinement-
My soul dissolves into nothingness, while blood drips from the ceiling-and
I wonder- do they make keys that unlock minds from the cells of their delusions?
Somebody just painted my world black and I am doomed to be trapped here
Forever…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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How Can I Fake Some Feelings?
when you fake your orgasm
i know it
by heart, there is no moisture
in my thoughts,
dry
as a desert i walk like a bedouin
without a song
my camel looking for some
water in the oasis
mirage,
we too are mutual
in this faking game
i do not even have to fake
my feelings
loving you
it is the bulb in my head
above the bed
where we make love
in an intertwine
when the light clicks
see another face
forgive me
i have had your fake orgasms
multiple in fact
but i really do not mind
faking my feelings
they are not there anymore
i do not have them
they have long been buried
in the marrow of my
bones
the red blood there
long dried
i do not even remember
where and when
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Burning Inside
Will these dreams still follow me,
On of dark obscurity?
Cant you see it up in the sky
As it kicks you in the face and lets you dye
You never have the answers
And now you tell me the facts of life
I really couldnt be bothered with you
Get out of my face and watch me die
Burning inside!burning inside!
Absolution and a frozen room
Are dreams of men below
I try to grab it but the touch is hot
The mirrors collapses, but the image can not
Im scared of darkness in a light
I scare myself cause I know Im right
I see the evil in youre savage eye
As it cuts right through the sky
Burning inside!burning inside!burning inside!burning inside!burning
Inside!burning inside!burning inside!burning inside!
Calling the mantra with a blade in the skin
For the demons within
I feel the pain is the death and decay
But the lesson never fades away
Too little shadows, turn away
Another man through the window pane
Another slave and a victim of fate
Another lesson in hate
Burning inside! burning inside!burning inside!burning inside!burning
Inside!burning inside!burning inside!burning inside!
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing To Say.
Auntie took you to the hut
where the wives of the soldiers
met up to chat and drink tea
and eat cakes and you sat in
the chair looking at each of
them in turn wishing time
would go and you could go
back home to your few toys
and play but no Auntie carried
on the talking and the long
conversations were way over
your head and now and then
they’d break into laughter and
some woman’s kid would cry
and she’d say I think she needs
changing and off she’d go wheeling
the pram to another room and
Auntie’d talk to another woman
and you’d lift your eyes ceiling
wards and wonder where Uncle
was fighting and how he would
cope stuck in the hut with women
yakking all the time and one woman
smiled a big goofy smile at you and
offered you a cake and orange juice
but you shook your head and looked
away in silence sulking with no good
thoughts in your mind and nothing to say.
poem by Terry Collett
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Prisoners
This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the rocky mountain high album, and has also been released on this is john denver album.
Josie works the counter at the downtown five and dime
Anything at all to help her pass the time
Her mama keeps the baby and grandpa rambles on
About the good times playing in his mind
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
Its a long night sleepin alone
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
Its a long, long way home
Josie spends the evening with the people in the pages
Of the paperback she picked up in the store
Or sometimes its the tv or shell try to write a letter
But they dont come too often anymore
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
Its a long night sleepin alone
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
Its a long, long way home
And I stare at the gray walls before me
And I see her face in the stone
And I try to imagine our baby
And I wish they would let me go home
And I wish they would let me go home
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long night sleepin alone
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long, long way home
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long, long way home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Child of the Dawn
In the small hours of the morning, I sat alone, outside
on a bench that smelled of wood and the old women
that sat there Sunday afternoons to watch the children
playing at the park. I ran my hand against
the smooth wood, a splinter lodging itself into my palm.
I winced and looked into the trees at just the right
instant. The sun was rising behind the branches
like a fish rising through seaweed. Hesitant.
As if afraid of what the water will do to it.
My friend broke into a smile as it was greeted by the pink
and soft orange sky around it, soon giving way to perfect blue.
A pure, motionless blue that went on forever, never
faltering, never ashamed to be the 'sad color'
that was simply a mistake of the People. It knew itself
to mean happiness and beauty. The beauty of the world.
The day dragged on, but it was a nice blue sky day
as the Child of the Dawn traveled across it.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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New Perspective
dust on my feet on my rubber shoes
stamp a mound of mud drying itself
the afternoon sun so hot
this little boy follows me with his gaze
did I appear so big to his attention
or the world is too small for him to play ball?
we look amazed to the same birds
too playing in the skies chasing the ones
not having the same feathers
the sun sets spreading orange colors
waning and now sprinkles some gray hues
the boys playing basketball sweat like they
were bathing on the rain, their bodies gleaming
like some barbecue on spiced oil
time to go home, it is dark, I have no reason to stay
the little boy follows me towards the road
where the fluorescent light is turned on by the guards
then I look back, the boy was gone
the whole block is lost eaten by this night
and on the island of light on this road
I stand, waiting for my ride back home
then I look back again, I smile a while
that little boy was me, I got lost somehow
I touch my head, I am setting a new perspective
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem After A Walk This Afternoon
dust on my feet on my rubber shoes
stamp a mound of mud drying itself
the afternoon sun so hot
this little boy follows me with his gaze
did i appear so big to his attention
or the world is too small for him to play ball?
we look amazed to the same birds
too playing in the skies chasing the ones
not having the same feathers
the sun sets spreading orange colors
waning and now sprinkles some gray hues
the boys playing basketball sweat like they
were bathing on the rain, their bodies gleaming
like some barbecue on spiced oil
time to go home, it is dark, i have no reason to stay
the little boy follows me towards the road
where the flourescent light is turned on by the guards
then i look back, the boy was gone
the whole block is lost eaten by this night
and on the island of light on this road
i stand, waiting for my ride back home
then i look back again, i smile a while
that little boy was me, i got lost somehow
i touch my head, i am setting a new perspective
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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View From A Bridge
Written by ricky & marty wilde
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
I guess it all began about a year ago
Like a cheap love magazine
You know the kind you read about
And have to laugh
At the pages in between
Now I cant believe that fool inside is me
cos I just cant face the world
Ive grown to see
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
I saw you kissing her
I saw you making her
In the soft sheets in between
But when you turned around
I saw your eyes were fire
And you crashed out all my dreams
And like a fool I just stood there
And let it go
I should have fought right back
And let my feelings show
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
You sure as hell knew how
To make a fool out of me
Well you cut me down
For the things you want
And now its killing me
Ill lay it on the line now
Youre running out of time now
But then a voice said jump
And I just let go
And Im floating out in space
But then I feel your arms
And I turn around
To a ghost without a face
And I just dont know
Whats fact or fantasy
cos when I look below the bridge
I see its me
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cant Cry Anymore
Took your car
Drove to texas
Sorry, honey
But I suspected we were through
And I cant cry anymore
Since I left
Been feelin better, cause thats
What you get when you
Stay together too long
And I cant cry anymore
[chorus]
Wouldnt it be good if we could hop a flight to anywhere
So long to this life
So much for pretending
Bad lucks never-ending
And now I know that
Money comes is
But the fact is
Theres not enough to
Pay my taxes
And I cant cry anymore
Well, got a brother
Hes got real problems
Heroin - no
Theres just no stopping him tonight
And I wont cry anymore
Chorus
Its never ending
It could be worse
I couldve missed my calling
Sometimes it hurts
But when you read the writing on the wall
Cant cry anymore
Chorus
And too much time Ive been spending
With my heart in my hands
Waiting for time to come and mend it
I cant cry anymore
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I Wait For For You
and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill
i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill
when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it
i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you
i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul
do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep
just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness
we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins
we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Prince Of Orange
Look at these hands
Spokes of the sun God delay you, spray you
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Brass robinettes
Trumpet and drums for the taking, baking
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
All the food he steals is all right
Far the tall and gentle poplar
Causing fanfare to those listening
Now
Drape round your head
Mischief and secrets in green kelt, all hell
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Look at these lands (--- --- ---)
Youll get no books for your dinner
Sinner
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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It Is Over, Part Two
after the arms entwined
like tendrils of
a very resilient vine
the door closes
like a sunset
filled with warm colors
of red and orange
and hard yellow egg yolk
and then fading
like a whisper
in my ear
that hears a word
bye
honey
see you later,
and then we say
such a short bursting moment
in the most private silence
(of our concealed existence
like a love letter
written a long long time ago)
is over and when we walk away
our separate paths
i to the north and you
to the south
we keep assuring our dream
weaver
that since we like this place
with you
then we must work for a rebirth
a tryst
somewhere though we
do not know
exactly when....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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