Something in me does not rest
Perhaps it is my soul
It is restless It is up to something else
Something more important than what I am doing now
It is wriggling. It is conscious of something.
To come.
It is up for something greater than everyday.
I do not know.
I really do not know. It is not speaking to me.
It is like an egg. It is the shell and transparent
Something alive is wriggling wanting to be born.
I am wanting to be reborn. I am not speaking to myself.
It is delicate. It is perhaps something holy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Severed Tail of a Home Lizard
Wriggling tail really tells
That soul and body ride together,
But whose divorce
Death always seeks.
Wriggling tail really tells
That pain is a pin,
Which pricks on
On all the severances.
Wriggling tail really tells
That visible and invisible
Are synchronized
On all beings in universe.
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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To Peck Upon The Hands Of God
what i see
every morning
on the same
time of
this
wrecking hour
is what pushes
me
to do
all these
writings on
the wall
i pity myself
but what can i do?
it creates all
the drum sounds in
my heart
and i am dancing wildly
in this forest
without the light
of the sun
yet
it caresses my
skin
like the massage
that one cannot forget
and so keeps
on returning
there is nothing
wrong here
nothing evil
it is
the mouth of heaven
speaking
there is no guilt
anymore
but after all these
wriggling
what hovers
in the fields are
the birds of
boredom
and the air of loneliness
keeps
blowing
i pity myself
this bird that flies high in the sky
without the fear
of falling
far from the mountains
wanting to
peck upon
the hands
of God
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wanting To Be Near You
Wanting to be near you.
Wanting to be near you,
Once again.
Baby.
And wanting you to know,
I am your friend...
Until the end.
Somedays I feel defeat.
And this shows.
Somedays I'm not as strong...
Or comfortable.
I can be weak in mind.
And from time to time...
I am needing more from you!
You're deep within my heart.
This you should know.
Right from the very start,
We were one.
And if I've said or done,
Something you can't forgive.
Please tell me then and there!
Make me be aware,
Instantly!
Baby.
I'm wanting to be near you!
Wanting to be near you,
Once again.
'Til the end.
And wanting you to know,
I am your friend...
With no one and nothing,
In between!
Wanting to be near you.
Wanting to be near you,
Once again.
Baby.
And wanting you to know,
I am your friend...
Until the end,
Of time!
I am wanting to be near you.
Come what may.
Everyday...
We live.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Resserection
On June 29,2004;
I died at 10: 30 am,
and gotten reborn,
in a way of speaking.
The love of my life gave
me what I'd been seeking.
A call through time and space,
answered within my heart,
I knew we're ment even from
the little time allowed at first,
the time that was spent.
Between looks and glances,
memories and second chances,
inhale, exhale
thought and speech.
Lyes the power of love,
just beyond our reach.
Beyond our comprehentionof self,
knowing that four letter word is better to you
than all the wealth of the world.
Imagine this weightless, timeless,
timeless, place filled with everything,
nothing, happiness, saddness all wrapped into
this precious little see through pearl.
In the palm of your hand,
wanting, needing, and controllingthis demand.....
on June 29,2004 I died and gotten reborn
in a way of speaking,
souls floating, searching and waiting on a chance meeting.
jan.21,2006
poem by La Tonya Davis
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Loquacious
this afternoon, i talk a lot, and the more i talk,
the more words flowed from my mouth, the more i become less
of myself,
that is the irony of talking, the more i empty myself of this burden
using words, the lighter i become, the more useless i become of myself,
words and more words,
the more i have of them, the more meaningless my thoughts have become
and they who are listening have become more silent than ever,
i know, their minds are somewhere else, and i know that they know
that there is this spirit in front of them so restless,
wriggling like a worm, jumping like a horse, flapping like a bird
wanting to get rid of something: the fruit wanting to be free from the worm,
the horse from a gadfly, and the bird from the pricking flea....
what else can they say? they must have been saying.
we perfectly understand, we have been there, we were once a fruit
with a worm in our pulp, a horse with a gadfly in our tail,
a bird unable to get rid of the flea....
we were rotten once, we jumped the more, and now we are flying away.
what a life we have, we are never free, and we are never for even once
comfortable with what we are and what we have....
what we do not have of course, is what bothers us the most.
be it a horse, a bird, or a fruit, a flea, a worm, a gadfly of old
like what Socrates once mentioned before he took the fatal poison.
well he died, and here we are always trying to remember.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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1: 55 A.m.
the cicadas still sing
that early
in this small town and
everyone is
in fact everything is
so quite that if you
are awake at this hour
unholy as they call it
(but so holy to me
i think)
i can still hear
the voice wanting
to be spoken
deep inside the
linings of my
esophagus
there is this mummy
of the sarcophagus
wanting to be
reborn
honestly the name
still slips
in my tongue
perhaps this could
be the poem
about cicadas
and their songs
or the sound of
quiet
the murmur
of peace
long gone
now
trembling at the
tip of my lips
who knows?
if at a little stare
on the wall
soon i shall understand
and decipher
what slime is there
that wants to speak
inside my
throat
but still wanting to
be swallowed
honestly
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Romance of the souls
She
Kept on speaking
Telling me
How to deal with
Life’s intricacies
How to remain calm
In difficulties
And keep smiling
I kept on listening
So involved and
Mesmerized I was
I didn’t know
When she had
Stopped speaking
She reacted pleasantly
Asked me
Were you not listening?
I came out of
My deep thoughts
No, No
I was enjoying your
Wonderful discourse
I remember
Each and every word
You said
Was my reply
Now it was my turn
To tell her
About contentment
Confidence and attitude
She closed her eyes
Listened to what I said
With full sincerity
I finished speaking
But she did not
Open her eyes
Were you listening?
I asked
Yes, yes
Was her reply
Each and every word
You said
Is embossed in my mind
So involved we were
In each other’s discourse
That we did not realize
When each of us
Finished speaking
Kept our eyes closed
Wanting to listen
More and more
I asked her
How it is possible?
It was her turn to
Explain it to me
Dear friend
All what happened
Is called
Romance of the souls
My soul
Was romancing
With yours
24-01-2012
78-78-01-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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We Are Converging
Wanting to be heard.
Wanting to be valued.
Wanting to be acknowledged.
Wanting to sustain a way of life...
Fading.
To emerge once again and surge.
Wanting to be admired.
Wanting most to be thought as best!
Wanting to imprint an impression...
That conflicts and unrest,
Did not from them initiate...
The perpetuating of protests.
Nor did the rise of destruction, fear and insecurities...
Leave this world in a chaotic mess.
We are converging!
And peace...
Will be the final test.
Many want.
Many wish.
Many hope to fill all hearts with love.
Instead of a digressive emptiness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Well, you have the public not wanting any new spending, you have the Republicans not wanting any new taxes, you have the Democrats not wanting any new spending cuts, you have the markets not wanting any new borrowing, and you have the economists wanting all of the above. And that leads to paralysis.
quote by Michael Bloomberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wanting Out
I turned around
and there you were
standing in front of me
i can't ignore
the fact that you were back for more
It's kind of funny when you think about it
It's kind of hard to agree to disagree
now we're back to the start
no buts, no buts
but you want me back
so take me away
'cause I don't wanna be found
I should learn to speak up
When enough is enough
and I'm wanting out
and I'm wanting out
I saw you smiling in that photograph
and I remember how we used to laugh
but that was then
forgive and forget
that was easiest
so take me away
'cause I don't wanna be found
I should learn to speak up
When enough is enough
and I'm wanting out
and I'm wanting out------
ohhh
dadadadada dadada ohhh
And I don't know if I can get through this
and I never knew that before
you make up your mind
and suddenly find you're wanting more
so take me away
'cause I don't wanna be found
I should learn to speak up
When enough is enough
ohh
and I'm wanting out
and I'm wanting out
so take me away
'cause I don't wanna be found
I should learn to speak up
When enough is enough
ohh
and I'm wanting out
ohh
and I'm wanting out
and I'm wanting out
and I'm wanting out
and I'm wanting out
song performed by by Michelle Branch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't know that I ever wanted greatness, on its own. It seems rather like wanting to be an engineer, rather than wanting to design something--or wanting to be a writer, rather than wanting to write. It should be a by-product, not a thing in itself. Otherwise, it's just an ego trip.
quote by Roger Zelazny
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because I Cannot Sleep Tonight
because i cannot sleep tonight
i have to pay the price
my morning and noon tomorrow
shall be my night
and the whole day i will sleep too
not speaking to anyone
not having breakfast
and lunch
another dinner for one on a candle light
they will all be sleeping
and i will be working
like a vampire have i become
thirsting for blood
wanting more flesh
shying away from the ordinary hustle and bustle
of this world
i wake up when everyone sleeps
i sleep when everyone wakes up
and soon they will all complain
and bury me
alive
because i have refused to learn how i must live
with them
and of course, they will not like it, tomorrow morning
the rules will be posted in the ref
they know i still need a drink, and the cold water
is stored in the ref
they are away on a trip, and they will wait
as always.......wanting to understand, wishing that i change....
i am still thinking, if i better get lost and be not found forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Guilty
Guilty: For wanting you;
For wanting to touch your cheek;
For wanting to stroke your hair;
For wanting to let your voice wash over me;
Guilty: Of feeling the way I do;
Of dreaming of you;
Of day-dreaming of you;
Of falling in love with you;
Of wanting you for myself.
RG/RR
poem by Robert Green
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All Of This
With all of this I know now
Everything inside of my head
It all just goes to show how
Nothing I know changes me at all
Again I wait for this to change instead
To tear the world in two
Another night with her
But I'm always wanting you
Use me Holly come on and use me
We know where we go
Use me Holly come on and use me
We go where we know
With all of this I feel now
Everything inside of my heart
It all just seems to be how
Nothing I feel pulls at me at all
Again I wait for this to pull apart
To break my time in two
Another night with her
But I'm always wanting you
Use me Holly come on and use me
We know where we go
Use me Holly come on and use me
We go where we know
She's all I need
She's all I dream
She's all I'm always wanting
She's all I need
She's all I dream
She's all:
I'm always wanting you
Yeah I'm always wanting you
I'm always wanting you
Use me Holly come on and use me
We know where we go
Use me Holly come on and use me
We go where we know
She's all I need
She's all I dream
She's all I'm always wanting
She's all I need
She's all I dream
She's all:
I'm always wanting you
Yeah I'm always wanting you
I'm always wanting you
>At all again I wait for this
>To feel the home
>To shake the sky in two
Another night with her
But I'm always wanting you
Another night with her
But I'm always wanting you
song performed by by Blink 182
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The fear of worth
HATERS TRYING TO BRING ME DOWN
ONLY WANTING TO GET CLOSE TO ME
SPEAKING ENVY AND JEALOUS THOUGHTS
MAKING THE HEART BEAT FASTER
DARKNES ALWAYS CARRIES THE WORST
THAT LEAVES THE ENEMY TO COME AFTER YOUR SOUL
IS THIS AN ILLUSION FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION
FOR WHEN I AWAKE THE WORLD WILL BECOME
A FREQUENCY....
poem by Shai Cherry
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In a Manner of Speaking
In a manner of speaking, I want to kill you,
said the drunk redneck to his wife,
In a manner of speaking, I don't love you,
said my ex (turned vegan) to me,
as I returned from a psych ward, hoping for
some sort of reconciliation,
And in a manner of speaking, the whole
world has gone to shit, that no mentally
unbalanced poet can improve upon,
In a manner of speaking, I was just a haiku
before I birthed an epic poem in 2008
and it went something like:
In a manner of speaking…
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
beer and loose women,
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
internet journals with useless information,
In a manner of speaking, there are plenty of
assholes writing about getting laid and anal sex
on MySpace,
In a manner of speaking, my friend got raped
a few years ago and now has occasional herpes
outbreaks, which are quite disturbing
to her husband,
In a manner of speaking, I'm losing faith in humanity
and love at times,
In a manner of speaking, we just go through the motions,
hoping for something to change or something
spectacular to happen.
But I don't really know any more,
trying to make sense of it all, screaming for some sort of
sanity that eludes me,
In a manner of speaking, I feel alone here,
unable to connect to what's around me-
I just told some guy at a bar that I was a Dallas Cowboys
fan and I don't even watch football,
and he told me to come in my 'gear' on Sunday,
In a manner of speaking, I feel somewhat liberated
because I have no clue as to what I'm doing,
knowing that there is really no escape.
January 8,2008
-Alexander Shaumyan
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Mornings Are Reborn
i do not like to think that
mornings are broken
like fragile white porcelain
like eggshells and glass figurines
and wine glasses
i like to see a morning reborn
dressed in light
on a pedestal of green grass
coming out
from the shadows of the tall mountains
touching the skies
regal, and fresh and cool,
i like myself to be just that
reborn
blank and still wanting to live
a life that is full
alive and like the arrival of
my morning
i like it be silent like
cat's feet
on the carpet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To A Friend On The Other Side Of The Earth...
you write and i listen to each word.
you are faraway. You speak in repetitive lines.
there are standards of art.
a poem must be so and so. so does a short story.
unity of plot, choice of words,
fixing the mood and
fortifying the contextual feel.
you are mumbling poetry in winter
inside a train that travels on a speed greater than light.
tomorrow it will be at ten in the morning
when the bullet arrives at its destination
you write.... breathtaking views, flashes of memories.
i listen to a chant. i chant myself.
speaking to speaking speaking.
we are all alone. yet we cope up without any
help from them, damn carpets and
dripping roofs.
whether what you write is poetry or prose
it is not important anymore.
you are a poem that i care for.
i do not know you but there is a shadow
it is enough for me.
damn biters. damn arrivals.
i do the same. Sit back and write.
senselessly. desperately seeking what we still do not know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Statistically Speaking
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
From the viewpoint of a human being...
I detect us humans,
Are the least important things,
On this Earth.
And the water, grass and trees...
Are the 'real' things,
Mother Nature wishes more to treat!
I perceive our existence here,
Is not so high on the list.
Since we are an experiment.
Even though we choose to think of ourselves,
As the center of the universe.
And here to live in a permanence!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
We leech and feed,
Off what nature offers.
We know nothing but conflict!
And this chaos we foster.
There are laws created to discriminate.
Yet we discuss things loved...
And show how much we despise and hate.
We infiltrate and pillage,
Lands where others live.
We take without thought.
Causing blood to shed.
And worship heartache.
As we lay alone sleepless in our beds!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
With faith we fake brotherhood!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Believing prayer delivers escape!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
And cry like spoiled children!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
With no guilt of remorse to eliminate...
The taste of life,
Made of just frosted cake!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
We treat ourselves and others like sheep!
To fleece the wool.
Because we're full of bull!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
We take without thought.
Causing blood to shed.
And worship heartache.
As we lay alone,
Sleepless in our beds!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Yes!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Yes!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Yes!
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom,
Statistically speaking.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There's a difference between wanting to be respected and being a strong female and being known for being able to do things, but still very much wanting guys to open the door, wanting them to ask us out, still bringing flowers and stuff like that.
quote by Jennifer Love Hewitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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