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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Related quotes
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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To Write To Think To Imagine To Love
i do not just write from a scratch of an idea from anywhere
like i get a pen and a piece of yellow paper, a blank sheet of
bondpaper, unperfumed like the love letter sent to sensuality,
it is not a matter of switching on the light of the lampshade
early dawn, rub my eyes, tap my middle finger on the table,
and breathe deeply and say,
i will write this
emptiness, with no one inside this circle of emptiness,
like an empty set,
zero, nothing inside some domains,
no,
writing starts with someone in mind
not really something lovely that excites my hormones
my lust and desire for another sexual fantasies
it woudl be too selfish
and ignoble,
writing starts with you
the concrete you, the once crying inside the room
on a wintry night, the one who needs the comfort of my
thoughts, the warmth of my concern
though distant
like the sun to another sun to another star to another star
of this galaxy to another galaxy,
i think about your worries
i reflect upon your quest to be alive again
i ponder upon your thirst
for love
something specific
something i can touch with the fingers of my mind
something that i can bite and check if this something is still
tasting the salty taste of the blood of life,
as i grow somehow
i shall think about the great spaces and places of the other worlds
beyond you and me
beyond us,
my mind gaping like an open mouth of a baby
opening to the freshness of this world
i will start with you
your sad eyes, it will start with the question
how can i ever wipe your tears
how can i ever make you smile again
and then the sadness of the world
its miseries
how can we ever heal it,
how can we ever make it green and alive again
from the very beginning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Acquired Isolation
I awoke this morning and looked at the sunshine,
I starred deep into the sky,
But as I opened my mouth to embrace my glee,
I turned away and closed my eyes,
From inside my room I only see the beauty of outside,
I sometimes reach out my window,
But when someone tries to grab my hand, I turn away,
Something tells me deep down I’m truly afraid,
Even when I’m the predator, sometimes I feel I’m the prey,
But the knowledge I’ve acquired from suffering is something I’ll never trade,
And even on the darkest of nights,
That light I turn away from the beautiful outside,
Is the sunshine in my mind, that never fades.
poem by Kurt Kacich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take The Lid Off The Pot
Just take the lid off the pot
Savor all the flavor
Take the lid off the pot
Savor all the flavor
Take the lid off the pot
And savor all the flavor
That's inside of the pot
To then taste what that pot has got
It's been long in simming
With select ingredients
Mouths drool and this is seen
With a stirring up the scent
Eyes are watering with dreams
Now's the time to dip in and get eating
To stop the teasing that was meant
Take the lid off the pot
Savor all the flavor
Take the lid off the pot
Savor all the flavor
Take the lid off the pot
And savor all the flavor
That's inside of the pot.
To then taste what that pot has got
Delicious is the stew
To satisfy those licking lips
Deliciously it soothes
For those who sit and wish
With a wanting more of it!
Just take that lid off the pot
To savor all the flavor
Take the lid off the pot
Savor all the flavor
Take that lid off the pot
And savor all the flavor
That's inside of the pot
To then taste what that pot has got.
'What's the matter? '
There's none left!
'What are you saying?
What do you mean? '
It's gone
All of it
So
Take those memories you've got
And reminisce those wishes
That was inside that pot
There is not even a drop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Told Me
I remember you reading me about
Places beyond the mountains,
Above the trees and behind rainbows-
You told me that skies turned gray here sometimes
And the sound of thunder would
Resonate throughout -
The places I used to run and hide from and
Those places where the skies would at times turn red in hue
Where the light of the sun would bear down
Upon that paranormal pond I so often spoke of-
I had told you about the world I lived in where
Few people lived and cats ran wild while
Trees grew tall to scrape the clouds as
Pink and silver as they reflected in
The course of a running stream that lead
Towards a safe place where I could hide from
That world I so feared where cars ran vicariously-
Clocks ran from nine to five in that world where
Three billion people were known to live-
That world where I had never felt safe at home.
To retreat to the land beyond the mountains and
Behind rainbows-
I told you in those rare moments when I was afraid to speak and
Fearful of everything you deemed as “real”-
I know the world in which you live is real to you and
Although this land of purity, and through my eyes
I saw as safe and majestic-
You told me this was none but a delusion-
I remember living for a short while
In your world, where guns fired, thunder clapped, cars would rush
Carelessly down boulevards and skyscrapers were built
To barely withstand rain, sleet and snow-
In desperation I spread the wings you told me did not exist-
Lifted my body and flew beyond the mountains and the rainbows and far away from
This world so overwhelming and so threatening-
You were the one who read me tales about lands beyond the mountains
And in my mind I found a place behind a rainbow-
And it didn’t matter if it was none but a delusion because-
Through my own eyes, what feels like home,
No matter where the place may be-
Is truly home to me- no matter where its destiny-
You told me the thunder would sound soon and the lightening would strike-
I told you “Never in my world” and if some day I also saw it as a “delusion”
It would not matter because I have found my safe haven here-
Alive and content in this place where I can call myself
Settled and secure,
I would never turn my head to see the rain falling upon
Skyscrapers and cars breaking down on the highway
Early in the morning-
Whether my dream world is real to you or
Just a figment of my imagination in your mind,
It is true to life to me-
That is what matters and
If some day you wish to see what living blissfully encounters-
Climb over that mountain and beyond a rainbow
After a storm-
You shall find me there to
Welcome you and perhaps you also-
Shall never see any turning back, as
What is veracity and what is phantasmal-
Is as has been said-
Is in the eyes of the beholder-
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Look For The Period It Is Not Found Here
she tells me again she agrees that everything here is
unintentional pure imaginings of the mind when the snow is so thick
and going outside is painful to the skin no matter how you rub your fingers
and hands against your tummy,
this happens usually in the morning, flickers at dawn, and does not subside
keeps on dictating, hushing, whispering words that the right brain fails to
understand, the left does, and takes note of every letter, like sketches of
a face that you have for once never seen anyway,
until the bacon gets crisp, and the white jasmine rice is ready
on the wooden table, one begins to share and ponder,
hot coffee, and loneliness
anxieties that do not know is already inside your room
last night
do not look for understanding
the purpose precisely is that this is a very confidential matter
ciphers of existence that only the self can tell
perhaps before the timely rowing to the path of God
do not look for the period it is not found here
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.
I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.
I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.
I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?
I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?
I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?
I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Working With Images....
when we work with images
they become real, touchable,
i, too, smell
what has been transformed by
a dream
like a bread
baked
sending its fresh flavor
in the air
hot tea is served in the cold
corners of the mind
i am seeing beauty
and shapes of bodies come out from
glossy paper
i severed myself from the pains of
you
the images are real and they do not ask
if things are moral
i embrace all these images for the main reason
that i must live
my life
amidst the rules of this mundane games
every night i sleep late
transforming what this world thinks as invisible
in the morning
virtual leaves fall at the foot of the real tree
on top of grass, as green as my mind
flowers are flaming
like fire
in my belly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Does Not Matter Anymore
one gets used to it
a bland food one gets used
to blandness and it does not
matter anymore whether bland is
bland or not
one suffers the tastelessness
of routine like a road without a bend
where mountains are there and they
are there without anymore significance
to you whether they cast shadows or not
whether they are tall or leveled
whether they can obstruct or they
can make you pass through
if there is a wall you stop
and you cannot pass you turn around
and find another path
it does not really matter
whether it is a lie or truth
what matters most is
this journey that you are taking
and that soon it must be over
without destruction without hurting
those who must remain
those who are still holding their
wineglasses to wait for another cheer
how many years more? it does not matter.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time Passes
Time is passing while I am waiting
For true life to have some meaning-
Time is passing and I blindly
Count to ten upon my fingers-
Not knowing and not even able to distinguish
What is real from what is not?
One, two, three and the voices inside me won't stop commanding-
Four, five and six-
All I see are snakes within the bleakness and confinement of this room-
Seven, eight, and nine, and even through this dim light I believe I am being watched-
I count aloud to ten upon my fingers and
Time is passing and all that is all that I hear for the moment-
All that I see, I reach out to touch or to open my eyes to see-
Time has passed and everything is silent, without a trace of
Ever being near and once more I count,
Starting at seven, eight and then nine- watching the second hand on the wall clock and
Ten? Ten more hours to be locked inside of this empty, room where
The walls are barren and I am alone with my thoughts-
Time is passing and I would be running away, but there is nowhere to run to, except to
Places inside of my mind and one, two three and all that I see is
The walls of this empty room and a locked door-
I could count from one to a thousand and
Inside of this room I would remain- I could count to one million and
I would die before I even got there- so I count from one to three over and over because
Everything is seemingly easier when I am lost inside the world of my fantasies and
I realize now what is not truly real and threatening shall never harm me and
Time is passing and as I count, I am blissfully losing myself inside the world
I have made here inside of my mind for myself, alone…
This way time may pass even before the sun rises tomorrow, and then-and then?
My life perhaps shall have some meaning-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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So what will it be?
So what will it be?
What will it be?
What will it be?
When the sun rises
With life hitches that you try to stitch
In your everyday struggle
So what will it be?
What will it be?
What will it be?
When you try to analyse
Instead of embracing
What’s been thrown before you?
You may think you have the answer
But whatever it is
I get your point
Let me be blunt
Open your mind, open your eyes
Can’t you understand?
For it is not that easy
Life itself is messy and greasy
You are probably wondering
What I am talking about
I am talking about yesterday
I am talking about last month
About last year
I am talking about that time we first met
In this worlds mysterious set
When we both not scared to experiment
I remember the flirty words we first spoke
And how sensual you felt in the morning when we awoke
I remember your hot feverish kisses
Which with your slender tongue you unleashed
I remember your gentle touch
And the feel of your silky skin
Our exchange of hot body fluids
When you delivered your goods
A choice of broken moods
Brought it all to an end my friend
Since then
I have an inclination
A declaration
It is my confession
My virtual animation
Of my vivid imagination
Of what events should take place between me and you
Sometimes people never know
How you feel inside and they go
Leaving you low
As time grows
So I say it out aloud
If you cant hear
It may get to you by word of mouth
Now we meet again
I hope this time not in vain
There is something here I fear
For when I look into your eyes
You body silently trembles
And your fixed smile resembles
That of Miss Queen Latifas
From afar
Your natural spontaneous gaze
Embroids and glitters your face
When I touch you
You shake like a leaf
While I play with your scarf
I want to taste the lily of your valley
And touch your cream coloured honey
I want to feel the skin of your world with my lips
And listen to your moaning sounds on my trip
But for now we can start with a kiss
It’s a bit of a hit and miss
This is my fantasy
A living reality of my needs
So what will be?
What will it be?
What will it be?
My illusion
My final conclusion
Is perpetually simple
You were meant to be
For you and me
Can’t you see?
So what will it be?
© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Outside My Picture Window
It has been said that there is a world outside my picture window and
Beyond the trees I see everyday and the sky, sometimes overcast and
Other days, when the sun rises early- I can see the sky and have often wondered if
There exists another world within our universe- I know that
There exists a world inside of my mind and
My pupils are the windows into which
People would look if I were to venture outward?
Beyond the sky, and beyond the sun-
Beyond that world inside my mind,
I would never know where there exists a place for me-
Last night outside of my window
I could see the stars- stars mean different things to different people as
Does the sun, the trees and this whole world outside-
The world inside my mind revolves about
The sun that shines upon my own horizon and
As for this world outside, all I can do is look- and to
See a tree, perhaps a single cloud and the grass that grows-
I have shut my mind to the people who live beyond
The trees, clouds and the grass that I can see-
That window opens to the world inside of my thoughts-
I have just shut and pulled the curtain to discourage all intruders-
I am lying by my window in total darkness now as I place my hand over my eyes,
Shutting out reality and now I can see mountains, flowering trees and
A creek flowing in which I can see my reflection and
I am running upon the grass that grows beneath my feet-
I believe I heard music playing inside the fortress of my mind-
It has been said there is a world outside and I have pulled the curtain
To the window once opened to veracity-
Darkness has never looked as beautiful as I am safe here in my solitude-
Even when the stars are shining and the sky is such a magnificent sight to see-
No place is as exquisite as the creek that runs through my inner space and
The sun inside the world of my thoughts that shines upon my horizon?
The stars are far away and all that is real, though just outside my picture window
I perceive as too far away for me to reach- I would touch the stars and I could be a dove
That can lift my wings and fly away from all that threatens, but only inside my dreams-
Children sing songs and read fairy tales and they believe and I believe that
The sun shines light upon their worlds and
Someday their dreams shall blossom as has mine and shall become their homes-
Home is the safe place inside a person's mind, not within the madding crowd that
Exists outside my picture window- even if the stars are always there- and
That unique and special sun shall just keep on shining upon the world of my dreams….
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Most Visible Mask
you have loved the most visible mask i have
my face
everyday, this face, tomorrow this face, yesterday
this face
you are proud of my nose, and you tell all your friends about
it
aquiline, conquest of a nose, occupying almost all parts
of your territory
not even the hands but this face
the mouth that eats you
the eyes that close when
i kiss you
the tongue that maps out
what has to be found when lost
this face, the most visible mask
inside
is the real face, the face of my mind
it is thinking something else
all these years
the invisible mask is silent
tomorrow shall be the scorn
you must bear it,
you are fond of the most visible
though not really enduring.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Getting Out
i did not say it was a mad house.
perhaps it was me, when i left it.
perhaps i have not seen the light.
or perhaps it was too dark inside.
or perhaps the darkness is just inside myself.
but then i left it. It is now a fact.
i smile to the world now.
i have many choices about what colors
of shirt, or pants or socks to wear.
i can read any book and i can be anywhere
i want.
i did not change my face or modify my body.
there was no pressure to adopt my vision
to anyone else
or to that house that is set in the middle of the
big city and walled as high as the clouds.
all i felt was the hanging
and the inhibition as though i am caged
but you have always said
this is part of the molding and it
will be painful for a time.
i want a ring with a name and date on it.
i want a house without walls.
a face with eyes open and hands outstretch
to the sky.
i want to listen to the sound of the river
as it longs for the mouth of the sea.
i went to the mountain with trees and
listened to the songs of the birds
and the aria of the wind.
i went on top and saw the city
and it is too small for my hands.
now, i have seen the light.
now i feel freedom.
now i am myself. there is no fear
and all i have is love and
compassion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Sunny Day I Dreamt
One sunny day I dreamt
I saw a world of pure light-
the purest light that danced inside
my heart and poured upon
the city streets with joy...
One sunny day I dreamt
I saw my love, her smile
upon me like a gentle wind,
somewhere beyond the lonely
shopping malls, beyond
the hungry beggars stooping
dazed and staring at the vulgar
wealth that burns the eyes...
One sunny day I dreamt a paradise!
And then I laughed a very silly
laugh that burst inside me
like a flock of birds that
seemed like people arguing inside
about vacuum cleaners, underwear,
cars, recession, pimples, prices,
and old wars...
One sunny day I dreamt my tears
were like precious gems inside
each living room and bedroom on
display, available to all at no cost!
One sunny day I was a poet lost,
directing all the traffic on
the streets with nothing but
my eyes...
One day-one lonely sunny day-
I dreamt I saw you, darling,
in this sea of lies
where everything is safe
and guaranteed, where
everything is sold to
satisfy your every wish
and need-whether you
need it or you need it not,
it doesn't matter much...
One sunny day I dreamt
I felt your touch that woke
me up to write this childish song...
I looked for you, my love, but you were gone.
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Alabaster Cave ~ A Villanelle
Inside the belly of the whale
He left her to construct her fate
A conduct far beyond the pale
A darkness like the pit of hell
She slipped and tumbled upside down
Inside the belly of the whale
Skeletal hands with sharp toenails
That clung to alabaster walls
And onyx wing-beats flapped pell-mell
The mousy guano rained and fell
Laying eggs inside her hair
Inside the belly of the whale!
She looked to hide to no avail
He'd plowed ahead and left her there
A conduct far beyond the pale
No handholds, twas like reading Braille
He'd doused the green light lamp telltales
Inside the belly of the whale
A conduct far beyond the pale
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chocolate Cherry
A sinful delight, melting slowly,
Hey, so what! Get heavy.......
Forget the weight, Forget the pound
Forget the calories, Who wants to count?
So sweet, so good, so light,
Can't keep it out of sight.
Layers and layers of ice-cream,
Like a Heavenly dream.
Flowing, gliding Chocolate cake Cherry,
Decadent, when they marry.
The Quivers Of The Heart....
THESE ARE our quivers, we have arrived at a dead end, and we face walls,
we look for the outline of a door and then a window
there is no sketch of a rectangle
or square
or a hole
we are praying for a leak of light to this dark room
existence
they say the sun does not shine anymore
the flowers are shy
and kept themselves locked in the tightness of their buds
these are the quivers of our imagined endings
our hands are shaking
the world is suffering to an earthquake of
values shattered
we like to speak only when we are far away from each other
our display of affection is well demonstrated by our constant hiding
we have devolved into shadows
and invoking words cannot take the substitute of the flesh
i am a stranger now arriving at a new place where people do not know
me.
as i speak, they continue looking outside, waiting for the right train.
i sit on a chair behind them. I sip my coffee. I pay for what i eat and drink.
i am lost, but this is what i want. I too, look outside, waiting for the right hour to arrive.
these are our quivers. We have no exact hold. Our hands are blistered with so much heat from inside our guts.
temper stored. anger contained. sorrow concealed.
one day, i shall write the poem about an annihilation of us.
when you read it, and that is the right hour, i am already gone.
nowhere. where is it? i also do not know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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