En.Citatepedia^®.ro

That Unusual Search Of The 'in' Thing

when ideas rule the world
it thirsts for images and so images
are made like shadows and
mirages
concrete mountains where
we put our feet and walk
real rivers where we swim and
drown
stones that we feel
stray dogs that we stare at
and be afraid of
it is always a story of what is not there
and gathering them all
and then the trend is lost and we wish
for something else
that one which is always coming
and soon to come and soon to be
worshiped
another idol another hands that turns
fruits into gold
another hunger of Midas
another dead Sphinx another
myth rising from the ashes of
centuries

this afternoon i sit upon a white easy chair
facing the blue sea
my search is over
actually there is nothing there
everything is just
hearsay
a rumor passed from one bad mouth to
another
from one moron to another
i need sleep and i assure you
everything is fine
it is enough.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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King Midas In Reverse

The Hollies
King Midas In Reverse
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/but mainly Graham Nash)
Single release 1967
If you could only see me
I know exactly where I am
You wouldn't want to be me
Oh, I can assure you of that
I'm not the guy to run with
'Cos I'll throw you off the line
I'll break you and destroy you
Given time.
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
It's plain to see it's hopeless
Going on the way we are
So even though I'd lose you
You'd be better off by far
He's not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He'd even like to sleep at night
But he can't.
{Interlude with 'all he touches turns to dust' 4x}
I wish someone would find me
And help me gain control
Before I lose my reason
And my soul
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
{fade out}
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas with a curse....

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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10:49 P.M. And Undefinite With What To Write

there is this sickness that compels me to write. There is this nausea that makes me
capture the words.
There is this pain that opens me up
to images

all images that soon appear like shadows of birds on the side of a hill
above
the full moon.

there is this void that behaves like a big mouth but cannot speak.
there is this silence that
dignifies
my loneliness. It is like an old woman waiting for no one by the stairs facing
the dusty road in an old country.

i have these eyes that look for nothing like a dead man staring without feeling
what lies there in front of those who scrutinize an event.

there is this trembling of the flesh in the arms while facing the monitor
inside a closed room.

there is this peace in exhaustion.
there is this knowledge of a dead end and there are no cars there.

there is this walk without a definite direction.
there is this purpose that you cannot describe.

there are lots of lost meanings that slip from our tongues and which we cannot
utter.

there is this game of boredom where we are all losers.
there is this acceptance without question because there is nothing worth
asking anymore.

after all these years
when we age and we do not care.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Collection Of Short Poems

MEANINGLESS
I looked into my soul
And saw a great emptiness that enswallowed me.
It was strange and it was dark.
A darkness so vast I fall into it.
Terrified, my heart froze
As fear’s ice hands griped it.
Big dreams and ambitions cut short by the shortness of life
My life now a black deep ocean to drown in
For this is now my fate for mine had being a vain pursuit for self.

DREAMS

The dreams,
These dreams that I dream when I sleep in my sleep.
Are so scary so dark that I awake to only find
That am trapped in the dusty dream of dreaminglessness.

Am lost like a codeless soul flowing in space.
Like a fading painting I evaporate losing myself in the mystic shadows of life.

I don’t know me;
I don’t feel me,
Am I dreaming or is this real?

The dreams,
These dreams that I dream when I sleep in my sleep.
These dreams that I dream are when my eyes are closed yet open
Are not for the faint hearted,
The dreams.

MIRROR, MIRROR, MIRROR

Internal reflections of my soul
Looking deep where I have never being before
I stand mouth agap at the images I see below.

Distorted images,
I can’t see me.
Is the mirror broken or is it the state f my soul?

Mirror, mirror, mirror!
Is there any hope at all?
Tell me now for I fear that I have completely lost my way.
Mirror…?

poem by Tigana Chileshe
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Images

I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images of Time

The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.

Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.

Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.

poem by Yash Pradhan
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There Will Be Images

in the mirages
amidst the desert heat
there will be images
fifty or so
for one real tiger
multiplying all the
fears of being
devoured
in the hunger of
its mouth
and the sharpness of
its fangs

this is the hunger of the mind
amidst the heat of the quest
for knowledge and truth
in the rush
what is open for viewing
is the scenery of lies

the key to the door
is the night of peace
the moon in full view
to the eyes that weep

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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how do you know that God is a myth?

a myth
like the sphinx
and the phoenix
as the story goes
on and on
somehow
there was this death
at the end
and then immortality
in the same way
that my God
died and lived
forever

killing a myth
can be another myth
like asking how do you kill a myth
that does not exist?

when you finally give the correct answer
about our humanity
the sphinx gets killed.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not Quite Dawn

Not quite dawn, night seeping out of the blue,
troubled sleep, no stars, and you, a week gone,
the whole universe applying its laws to your absence
which is the silence everything returns to like water.
I have never touched you, so my fingertips
can still play you into existence on a keyboard,
though the loss of your voice is a dead bird,
and I am a loose thread of blood in a labyrinth
of motherboards and micro-chips like me
who can’t find a way out of themselves without
turning away like a planet from its own stars.
How quickly the light comes, and the darkness
bleeds away like a love-letter under the door.
No eyes. No hands. No skin. No hair. I am
not even the ashes of a cleft witching wand
that went looking for water and caught fire instead,
and we have shared only the light of the mind
that paints a world with the shadows of a ghost,
and might only be the last habit of an amputee to leave,
a mere mime of the way our eyes make us see.
And yet the heart hurts as if you once were flesh,
and I am awake as if another bed denied me my own,
and I am angry and sad, scared and alone as if
the universe were shy one comet, one bead,
one firefly among billions who shone for me
and that light was brighter somehow than a galaxy.
The day grows a new skin over your absence,
and I am as out of place, out of time, as a streetlamp
still shining down on its feet in the morning.
And there could be a thousand and one reasons
you don’t write back, why the black crow caws,
the sky is a concrete rose, the blood of the poppy
runs along the gypsy blade of its undulant smile.
From the heights, I can see a small, blue egg
smashed on the rocks below, a gesture of ruin;
from the depths, the remnants of a shattered star,
and all I can do is stare into the relentless images,
a word without a mouth, like the new moon
shucked from my tongue like a black pearl.

poem by Patrick White
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Those Unsaid And Untouched By My Lips

my hands shape what you desire
in willingness my thoughts form the petals
of the flowers of your longings

i cater to love i submit to loving
naked i stand before the judgment of your eyes
you touch me and i become alive
in the days of my famine
my hunger is satisfied
in the days of my thirsts
my tongue seeps the dews of dawn

when you sleep beside my body
your head above my arms unfolded
i look at you and i regret not having said
all that i have seen in the dark

there are images still unspoken
there are still feelings unfelt by your innocence
i look to the sky beyond the windows of our beings
i gather silence like leaves under my feet
i walk away feeling triumphant about what i kept

the treasures of my heart
these i own, and these you must never know
for whatever happened
for all those years.... i have always been alone and happy.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Venetian Interior

Allegra, rising from her canopied dreams,
Slides both white feet across the slanted beams
Which lace the peacock jalousies: behold
An idol of fine clay, with feet of gold

poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Those' Images Made

People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made.

People love to treasure those images made.
The ones flowered to sugar without a bitter taste.
Those images glammed up to spotlight,
On a public stage.
But behind the scenes indignities can be mean.

Yet...
People love to treasure those images made.
And their minds are affixed to them to defend...
Every blemish that is openly seen.
Since people who love their images made...
Have not been conditioned on reality to feast.

People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made,
With an excusing of detrimental flaws and pain shown.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Old Man (Faraway)

old man, old man,
sitting in your chair;
tell me the story
behind your faraway stare.

i can see by your wrinkles,
and the scars on your hands.
it's been a long journey
from that faraway land.

tell me who and why you fought,
tell me what you won and lost.
tell me who that you loved,
and who paid the cost.

tell me what you learned,
would you do it all again?
have you made peace with yourself,
are you ready to go 'round the bend?

old man, old man....
sitting in your chair;
tell me the story
behind your faraway stare....

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Legend

The blacksmith's boy went out with a rifle
and a black dog running behind.
Cobwebs snatched at his feet,
rivers hindered him,
thorn branches caught at his eyes to make him blind
and the sky turned into an unlucky opal,
but he didn't mind.
I can break branches, I can swim rivers, I can stare out
any spider I meet,
said he to his dog and his rifle.

The blacksmith's boy went over the paddocks
with his old black hat on his head.
Mountains jumped in his way,
rocks rolled down on him,
and the old crow cried, You'll soon be dead.
And the rain came down like mattocks.
But he only said,
I can climb mountains, I can dodge rocks, I can shoot an old crow any day,
and he went on over the paddocks.

When he came to the end of the day, the sun began falling,
Up came the night ready to swallow him,
like the barrel of a gun,
like an old black hat,
like a black dog hungry to follow him.
Then the pigeon, the magpie and the dove began wailing
and the grass lay down to pillow him.
His rifle broke, his hat blew away and his dog was gone and the sun was falling.

But in front of the night, the rainbow stood on the mountain,
just as his heart foretold.
He ran like a hare,
he climbed like a fox;
he caught it in his hands, the colours and the cold -
like a bar of ice, like the column of a fountain,
like a ring of gold.
The pigeon, the magpie and the dove flew up to stare,
and the grass stood up again on the mountain.

The blacksmith's boy hung the rainbow on his shoulder
instead of his broken gun.
Lizards ran out to see, snakes made way for him,
and the rainbow shone as brightly as the sun.
All the world said, Nobody is braver, nobody is bolder,
nobody else has done
anything equal to it. He went home as easy as could be
with the swinging rainbow on his shoulder.

poem by Judith Wright
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Thriving Upon An Accepted Illusion

The fruit of the
center of this Paradise
One that i see
One that i always love to see
Feast always to my eyes
Without failure
One that i gaze upon
A touch on the gloss of the
Paper
Closing my eyes and feeling that it is real
But it isn't
These images live only inside my dreams
They die with the coming of Light
They escape on the hours of
Waking
I am faithful to these images that do not feel me
Do not know me
They are all dead a long time ago
The first time i ever knew them
But i insist
ON this illusion for without it, i die.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Indelible Images

Idelible Images
That first day of school
That first friend
Indelible Images
That first play
That first fight
Idelible Images
That first graduation
That first car
Idelible Images
That first drunk
That first sober
Idelible Images
That first love
That first forget
Idelible Images
That first death
That first realization
Indelible Images

poem by Scott Tetreault
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Stray dogs

Here and there and everywhere
Stray dogs doing business
And barkedup wrongtrees
And spoiled the working
Environments.

Stray dogs have no
Commonsense not true
Stray dogs encounter
The alien.
Stray dogs safeguard
The interest
And ensure to make
The area clean.

Stray dogs welcome
Common mass
Stray dogs do not like
Corrupt class.

Stray dogs can only think
The morrows
Stray dogs have practical
Experience and knowledge
You know I know all know.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Walk To The Light

(walt aldridge)
Ive never been one to believe much in ghosts,
But to tell you the truth now, my mind is not closed.
Ive heard there are souls that are lost in between
Somewhere theyre goin, and the places theyve been.
That sounds a lot like a woman I know,
Her love is long gone, but she will not let go.
Somebody oughtta take her by the hand and tell her,
dont be afraid, just walk to the light.
Let go of the past and get on with your life.
Somebodys waiting out in the night,
Ashes to ashes, walk to the light.
Now I understand that some things can take time,
Especially those of the heart grievin kind.
But there comes a point youve got to move on ahead,
Read the last rites and bury the dead.
Said she cant make the journey to get past the pain.
She moans in the night and she rattles her chains.
Somebody oughtta take her in their arms and tell her,
dont be afraid, just walk to the light.
Let go of the past and get on with your life.
Somebodys waitin out in the night,
Ashes to ashes, walk to the light.
Oh, dont be afraid of the choices that you made,
The choices are behind you.
When you give in, the healin can begin,
Love is gonna find you.
Dont be afraid, just walk to the light.
Let go of the past and get on with your life.
Somebodys waitin out in the night,
Ashes to ashes,
Oh, oh, dont be afraid just walk to the light,
Let go of the past and get on with your life.
Someone is waiting out in the night,
Ashes to ashes, walk to the light.
Walk to the light.
Walk to the light.

song performed by by Jo Dee Messina
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warm

One more time for ho jo, you know I cant wait
Another wasted line
Im sittin in the corner, I can feel the weight
Of my head on top of my spine
Theres nothing to be scared of once youve
Seen the the light, reflecting through the screen
A eudaemonistic life composed of tar and nicotine
You know it, you know it, you know it
cause youve seen it, now you believe it
You know it because it seems so real
You know it because youve seen it, now you believe it
You know it because it seems so real
It seems so real, it seems so real, it seems so real
Sit back and relax and do nothin,na,na,na,na
Youll laugh, then youll cry, then youll feel nothin,na,na,na,na
Implanted images of morality
Images of life, they seem so real
One more time for ho jo, what does it mean?
Im not sure I know, while looking for somebody
Deep inside a dream, my sunshine turns to snow
Now its blowin inside, I dont feel the cold
Yet Im frozen to my seat
My eyes have seen the truth
And still my mind admits defeat

song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Analogy

just the two of us
we went to the beach this afternoon
she sits on the
bamboo chair
hanging her feet

she looks to the horizon
of the very calm sea

i walk towards the shore
undress myself and take my swim

i need it badly
i like to get that swim

as the sun begins to set
as she looks at how sad the fading is

it is like love
and life and mortality.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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