En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Something That Slips Away

...because i allow it,
because of the way i keep my hands,
my fingers are falling apart,
and to keep my hands
intact, as i try too,
as i compose myself
as i reinvent my face through your
eyes,
and then, something slips away,
it hurts,
but i know it will not last long,
otherwise,
i will not be true to myself, i will be dead.
and i can't allow it,
so here i am, as usual, too normal
like the sun that shines
every morning
because everyone expects it to happen.

don't know if i feel my own
heat. don't care really. it is not about myself.
anymore. it is about the sun
and the day that it is duty bound to give
to the grasses
and to the rooftops.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)

i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.

hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!

hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....

whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love Is Better Than A Warm Trombone

*love is better than a warm trombone, when blown, softly by a two tone, brother
*down on luck by chance, caress her head off at the boogaloo trance
With his hands in his pocket he could not lie
With his hands in his pocket he began to cry
With his hands in his pocket he lowered his eye
*he said miss I guess I ought to apologise, Ive been fallin, Im falling down
The river of your lovelorn souls is getting deeper than the deepest dish washing bowl
*now brother get the dirt off your hands, its getting darker than a sun-chasers the sun tan
With his hands in his pockethe could not lie
With his hands in his pockethe began to cry
With his hands in his pockethe lowered his eyes
*he said miss, I guess I ought to apologise, Ive been fallin, Im falling down
With his hands in his pockethe began to cry
With his hands in his pockethe could not lie
With his hands in his pockethe lowered his eyes
*he said miss, I guess I ought to apologise, Ive been fallin, Im falling down

song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My heart is my hands

My hands

Is

Only my hands...

Not for

your hands....

So...

I want too work

My hands...

I want too serve

My hands...

I want to do about

Somthing of my

Hands...

My hands is

Free for only

Sleeping time only...

my hands is

working all the times

My hands not only

Hands...

It is human workers...

Allways for my friends...

My hands...is my heart...

My heart is my hands.....

Ok...How is your hands...?

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I Shall Have These Hands That Shall Write About Hands....

must have i forgotten
from where all these come?

ah, i have read about your hands
and now i shall have to mind about mine

once i had these hands
whose name is
work and struggle and
sacrifice

they lifted rocks
outlined by Sisyphus
and roll them from
atop the hill
and put them again there
in senseless
labor

when i got reason
my hands began to think
as though they have brains
under their nails

these hands begin the
questions
grapple for answers
and got
no satisfaction

they dabble in poetry
trembling and tense and
looking for
a compromise for some
fetish

must have i forgotten from where
these hands come?

someone says these hands are from
the hands of God
whose hands hand what we do not have
in hand yet

these hands did what was wrong then
and covered the face of the
penitent and the remorseful

these hands that slap a face that
triggered a gunfire
that lay upon the hardened breasts
and held breaths

these hands that write now for you
face upside down not asking for anything in return

these hands that speak for you
as you turn your head for someone else.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Near Yet So Far Away

you are just a breath
away from my
face. My fingers want
to jump off
my hands to
run over you

and indulge
in the lust of touch
and caress

my tongue wants
to run away
with your lips

my thigh
trembles beside
your hands

you are so near
yet

something holds
me away from you

(how can i
ever explain it?)

as i take
a glance, for the last
time at you
beside the glass window
of the car

i finally look down
and wish that
i kiss your feet

(i am in a
quandary between
shame and
satiation)

so near and
yet so far, i close
my eyes

and travel
inside my veins

my blood pumps
up and says

be good
take care as i leave

you are so
far now,
at the end,

at a certain edge
even the hands of my dreams
shy away

to hold and kiss
your shadow

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sunshine And Flowers And Your Way Of Loving

susnhine, spreading sunshine, warming my face
spreading this warm caress to my body, my shoulders,
bathe
take the basins of sunshine in the cups of your hands
feel
close your eyes and feel the sunshine falling in your hair
running to your ears
then open your eyes
to the blooms of flowers, the roses and daffodils in the garden
where a chair is there
where you sit
looking at me, beside you, bathing to sunshine, closing my eyes
feeling the warmth of the gazes of your eyes, the pulse of your wrist
the palm
your hands running
slowly all over me,
sunshine and hands and eyes closing
opening to dazzling color and closing again
to the thoughts of love
of you always loving me

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Hands And Old Eyes....

old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.

old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
for another candle, a hoe.
for the scent of nearness,
perhaps only remembered.
old hands and old eyes,
take the plow, the hammer,
and the nails....
old hands and old eyes,
waiting for love!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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After The Flower Has Bloomed

after the flower has bloomed
it has no option left
but to proceed to the next
inevitable step
of wilting and falling and
drying and crumpling

it will
just be another dried seed
again
falling to a fertile ground
of illusions

without your hands, it shall
soon grow
to become another flower
again
soon, soon
spring.

even without your hands
even without your hands.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Open

Do not hide in the living room
amidst the familiar and well thumbed

Open the door

Feel the air trace its fingers
along your face and hands

Open your hands

Breathe in

Open your eyes

Breathe out your
mark upon the day

poem by Diana Rosser
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Falling Off

I was a young man
Whose intentions were good
Kept my hands in my pockets
The way that I should

I soon found out
They got a mind of their own
Beginning to think
I had a heart
Made of stone

I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off

I try to remember
I try to forget
I┬┤ll keep my promise
Is that what I said

I had your number
But I didn┬┤t call
I got no excuse
I got my back to the wall

I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off

My eyes don┬┤t want to see
My ears don┬┤t want to hear
The things that make me feel
That keep me so endeared to you
It makes me think
Is that the best I can do

It doesn┬┤t matter
The time that I fall
I'm up for the next one
Like I'm ten feet tall

I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off

I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off
I keep falling off

song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Please Be True To Our Mutual Lies

please be true
to these mutual lies
as we lie
and kiss
and roll
and make such a quick love

do not make any moans
or calls
do not not kiss and tell
do not
be too possessive of my
body
my soul
my mind

these hands are strong
and so warm

you know, when these hands hold you tight
you know

these are not just yours
you know
these hands love you too like how these hands love

the rest of you, my all true loves
and them

they may not believe us
true to our lies
protective of ten fingers loving many lovely women
all worthy of my strong loving hands

my hands are made of ten fingers
there is no way that

these hands can be monogamous

you love me so true
and you would not have the folly to tell me that i have not loved

and loved you well enough

we must both be polygamous, and we must tell the world
we are true and we exist.

we lie because the truth is they are nor prepared for what they are too.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Good Hands..

In the hands of a gifted teacher
A classroom is a magical place! ! !
In the hands of a gifted teacher
There's a smile on each child's face.
In the hands of gifted teacher Creative energy is every where.
In the hands of gifted teacher
There's a catalyst who genuinely care.
In the hands of gifted teacher Desire and wonder is awakened.
In the hands of gifted teacherEducation agenda is shaken.
In the hands of gifted teacher Self managment skills are manupulated In the hands of gifted teacherThe best of reality is modeled.
In the hands of gifted teacher Gifts and talents are refined.
In the hands of gifted teacher The desired future is designed.
AND YOR THE TEACHER GIFTED TO MY HANDS! ! ! !

poem by Maanasa Bhaskar
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These Hands

Given by God -are these hands!
One can do many things -with these hands
With love one can help a strangers' hands-
Allay and comfort the elders' gnarled hands
Clean sweep and mop with these hands
Decorate and embellish with these hands
Cook and serve food to all with these hands
Clasp a loved one with these hands
Applaud one with pleasure with these hands
Dig the soil and form a garden with these hands
Hold a book to read with these hands
Write and post a card with these hands
Type a poem to cheer someone with these hands
Draw a picture and sew clothes with these hands
Paint a beautiful scene to amuse with these hands
Play a game of volley ball or cricket with these hands
Swim the waters and row a boat with these hands
Pick the harvests and fruits with these hands
Feed the animals and birds with these hands
Seek the warmth of dear ones with these hands
Feel the soft petals of a flower with these hands
Fold the palms to pray with these hands
Given by God - are these hands!

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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In Good Hands

In the hands of a gifted teacher
a classroom is a magical place
In the hands of a gifted teacher
There’s a smile on each child's face
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Creative Energy is Everywhere
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
There’s a Catalyst who Genuinely Cares
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Desire and Wonder is Awakened
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
The Educational Agenda is Shaken
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Self-Management Skills are Modeled
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
The Best of Reality is Bottled
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
Gifts and Talents are Refined
In the Hands of a Gifted Teacher
The Willed Future is Designed

poem by Ultimate Cyan
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Day and Night

Peekaboo we used to play;
my hands covered my face,
your hands covered your face,
incredible, there we were gone.

That is what we play now, your
hands on my face and my hands
on your eyes. Incredible
how we disappear into each other.

poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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When These Hands

When These Hands-

Reach out to you, yours
remain at your side,
eyes don’t blink
what do you think?

My hands need to roam-
over your face and lips,
chest and back.
Oh how they dislike
not being liked!

When hands can’t wait,
they jitter and twitter.
Can you not see my agony…
Four hands meet and greet then,
in ecstasy they wing to the sky.

Almedia S. Knight (ASK)

poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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You're Everything to Me

In your eyes I see the fire.
In your eyes I see desire.
When they're closed I cannot see
the eyes that mean so much to me.

In your hands I feel the love.
In your hands I rise above
all the things I've known.
Your hands have always made me moan.

Closer to you on every day,
your eyes and hands show me the way
that you will always love me
no matter where I will be.

There is no look I haven't seen.
There is no space that's in between
what I've felt in every touch
and every smile that meant so much,
For you're everything to me.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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T2

the green tiles of the garage
reinvent this old house

it is more livable now
the hammock newly washed

the shoes newly brushed and
the table newly painted

this house has reinvented itself
into something more admirable

decent, confident, renewed,
this could be a start

as you must begin to recreate
what you once was too

do not be just yourself
go beyond what is admirable

reinvent your mind
dye your hair, polish your nails

scent your soap and
wash your hands.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Thought I Am Complete

i thought i am complete
seeing my fingers
all intact in my hands
seeing my toes
in proper places of
my feet and my eyes
between the bridge
of my nose
and my hair lushing
on my head and my
ears too sensitive
for voices and sounds
and then something
runs in my spine
like a worm
at first then
more like a snake
and i suddenly
shudder

and then it was
that time that i
realize that i am

incomplete
and the thought comes
like a sudden flash of
light

i need you
i may not have learned to love you yet

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Work Dignity

Hands!
I see many hands
Watching fingers
Graciously playing
piano flute or harps
Writing molding painting
sounds and colors
to brighten and lighten
every heart
Those arts are
to become a special present
for those similar fingers
similar hands of our parents
grandparents
or grandgrands..
hands taking so much pride
in building, feeding, cleaning,
carrying in any way they could
for those inspired ones..
for our earth..
Those working hands
the finest souls
Could never scream out their
happiness or pain
because the lack of time
to even catch a breathe
But they too
expressed themselves
and done their best, oh yes
through work
own love and kindness
never stoped to spread.
Truth:
The Hard Workers!
Are Masters of the World!
Let's recognise
and value them
at Real price.

poem by Elena Sandu
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