The Allegory Of Pleasure...
there is more
to find in this mountain
the snails have not reached here
the birds are not telling the complete view
a vista of clouds
and little white houses beside a river
there is more on top of the trees
you have seen a lot
but there is nothing that can be touched
for the pleasure of the hands
so what is the use?
the feet are ready
and tomorrow is the final leaving
there is no regret
somehow he will try getting into the body of the cow
it will be nice there
there is more pleasure with the grass
and there is no moral
code to adopt
mud is still cooler for the body
dress is but a prison without a key
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
At This Moment
I'm very pleased to be a body. Can there be someone without a body?
As you hold mine I feel firmly assured that bodies are the right thing
and I think all life is a body. I'm happy about trees, grass and water,
especially with the sun shining on it. I slip into it, a summer pleasure.
I have hurt the body. That's when I know I need it most in its whole
condition. If I could prove it to you by giving pain you would agree
but I prefer you with your body pressed to mine as if to say it is how
we know. Think, when two must separate how sad it is for each then
having to find another way to affirm their bodies. Knock one against
another or tree or rock and there's your pain. Now we have our arms
filled with each other. Could we not grow old in this posture and be
buried as one body which others would do for us tenderly?
poem by David Ignatow
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Foolish Pleasure
Pleasing the body is quite a feat.
It's life's biggest quest.
Pleasing the soul is a bigger feat
for the soul knows you best.
You cannot hide the crimson blush.
It's the body's tell-tale sign.
You cannot see the heartened rush
for the soul's pleasure is devine.
It's beyond the pleaure the body feels
for the body is a fickle fool.
But the pleasure of the soul is lasting.
It follows every rule.
But oh that foolish pleasure
that makes us who we are
seems so stong.It is hard to stop.
It's end is way too far,
far from realitry, close to insanity
and still the body is bold.
Some say it's foolish. I say no
for the pleasure undoes the cold.
The soul abides and patiently waits
and knows the time will come
when foolish pleasure is temporary
for the body will succumb.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Pleasure XXIV
Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, "Speak to us of Pleasure."
And he answered, saying:
Pleasure is a freedom song,
But it is not freedom.
It is the blossoming of your desires,
But it is not their fruit.
It is a depth calling unto a height,
But it is not the deep nor the high.
It is the caged taking wing,
But it is not space encompassed.
Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.
And I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing.
Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged and rebuked.
I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek.
For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone:
Seven are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure.
Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?
And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs committed in drunkenness.
But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement.
They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer.
Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be comforted.
And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to remember;
And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.
But even in their foregoing is their pleasure.
And thus they too find a treasure though they dig for roots with quivering hands.
But tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit?
Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly the stars?
And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind?
Think you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff?
Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being.
Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?
Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived.
And your body is the harp of your soul,
And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.
And now you ask in your heart, "How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?"
Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.
People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Successful Mind
You dress the mind with success,
It labours night and day, opening.
We close it due to some sort of activity,
Offering a bright future so wild.
The dress of the body is beautiful,
Inside we house our learned manner.
It is a mansion of repute, of utter pleasure,
For the people around us will their way.
The mind houses superhuman traits,
Which we use as much as we can.
The mind and body arouse a point,
That point is our home, the one mansion.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Juliana....
on early morning
she walks down the river
leaving all her
coverings on the grass
she wades in the water
naked
as the bamboo trees
bend with the wind
paying homage to her
raw beauty
she plunges into the
cool waters of the river
and the river
takes joy of her body
then she rises
as water drips on her breasts
giving way to her
nipples
as the water cascades down
her abdomen
to her legs
Juliana, the mountain beauty
once i have seen her
under the moon amidst
the trees in the forest
and the virgin hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lovers Meeting Beside A River
two lovers meet beside a river
they are on to something prohibited
but they cannot be stopped by your beliefs
dogmas and laws do not work for their love
so strong
so uninhibited
the feelings that gush like a river
flowing
naked they touch their bodies
their hands exploring all the possibilities
of love
they kiss, they make love
they lay their bodies on the grass
rolling, one on top of the other,
tight, and warm
sweat and salivations
until the apex is reached
the climax of love
the ecstasy
the fulfillment and then
the much needed rest
the other one sleeps
and dreams
the other one smokes
blows a breath
to the sky
makes circles
and plays with the
images of the clouds
at night
when the moon shines
so bright
and the star glitter
no one knows about this
except the river and the trees
the trees sing
the river flows
and then the sun shines
the morning after
the two shadows are gone
leaving some traces
on the grass
dried sweat
disturbed grass
some maps
without names
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Body Language is Possessive
Her body language is possessive,
as if the pleasure is aimed at herself
but still her passion is active
full of knowledge, pleasure and meaning
with the heat of her tongue, lips and mouth
that covers my whole body
everywhere over me
before she pulls me into her hot depths,
when I hear her breath quickening in passion,
when she stretches over me,
bending her body over mine
with her long hair covering my face
while she is flowering over me,
astounding me in long moments of pleasure.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Pleasure Upon A Window
upon a window sill
the body lays
the hands strokes
every pleasure that the
skin gives
ecstasy is hard upon
its veins
bursting finally
on clouds
softness follows
sleep
on a weary heart
high
upon a dream
of a wet
forest grass
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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It Was A Pleasure Then
It was a pleasure then
Could you just be here again
To know what there was to see
When all the sunday people
Where so quiet in the dark
Afraid to be better the next day
La la la ...
It was a pleasure then
When we could sit and stare again
Until the stars feel through the cloudy trees
Onto the grass
Stars to smile with us
Until they too had tears in their eyes
Tell us this and tell of how much we must not agree
It was a pleasure then
To see the dieing days again
In the horror of the night
Never, never, never, never, never, lise
Keep it secret
For to hide somewhere at last
As long as we could see
The sky confessed this crime
Of futile tasting hate romance
Above our shattered minds
It was a pleasure, it was a pleasure
La la la ...
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost And Going....
to think of you and you alone
i am bound
and i am feeling so down
feet stuck to the ground
i must learn the art of detachment
i am free
i disregard home
i travel alone
i am searching for what i have not found
i have nothing
no one holds my hands
my pocket keeps them
inside warm
i please myself with the wonders of
the trees
the space that grass occupies
the heights of mountains
the rush in the waterfalls
there is this river
that flows and flows and flows
untiring
i am bare as clear morning sky
birds do not live there
i want the way they fly away
telling no one where to
sometimes we let go
our hands sail our feet kept like rudders
folded
i am this air
bound for nowhere.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Self-gratification
what my hands hold
you shall hold....is this what you came here for?
you hold my body like i am your lover
and now you try to capture the spirit within it
you can't, i have long told you
love has already left the dwelling in my heart
there is pleasure and it is dancing wildly like there is no more yesterday.
it is celebrating because in truth it hates me
like i am its molester
and now it sings like a burlesque dancer at the bar
it knows my secret and she keeps on telling
every people that she meets
that guy is dying and soon i shall be complete.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bodies
A body is the voice of a soul,
It speaks without words,
A language understood only by the one it desires,
Wanting freedom like caged birds.
Bodies understand only passion and longing,
They are incapable of telling a lie,
And when a body divulges its secrets to another,
What happens cannot be stopped by you or I.
A body remembers, it never forgets,
Another body which reigned its inner sanctum,
Even though through life it meets others,
It feels lost in an unknown kingdom.
When pain sends two bodies to gulfs of liquid fire,
And when love is the only remedy,
Their loins fuse to never part,
Dancing to a lustful rhapsody.
Bodies are curious, quixotic,
They understand feelings life cannot measure,
Their amplified responses to subtle touches mean,
They've reached the highest echelon of ecstasy and pinnacle of pleasure.
When the tryst with euphoria is made,
And the moist imprints of affection turn dry,
The bodies long to unite once again,
To commit a heavenly sin, to themselves they can never deny.
poem by SaviorsLavish Human
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Some Questions for Me...
perhaps i am too serious as a mountain
unmoved by the grief of those
clouds drifting
seeking comfort in the air that now
dominates them
because they have no direction
where to go
and no reason why they are going there
i am too serious, people are damned
and they do not make a sound
about this mountain that does not move and keep
on numb
and unfeeling and indifferent to what is happening
to the river
the snails and the squirrels and rats
and grass
perhaps i am dead
perhaps i am another senseless mountain
not knowing why i am here
perhaps i have become a stone
a grain of sand
a gasp of air
perhaps i have become another meaningless cloud
hanging upon
my side...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Communion
my feet shall tread upon grass
the grass spreads upon a topping of pebbles
the pebbles plunge on the river
the banks keep the stretch
until it reaches the mouth of the sea
and the sea spreads its arms all throughout the
continents of the earth's bodily contours
with the winds that takes the clouds with them
drifting along the curves of mountains and its peaks
until it communes with the myriad shining stars
at night with you
my world has become complete
warm and lovely
in communion with your
body and soul
i have become so full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Perusal
after a hard day
the day of the letters and convoluted thoughts
i glance upon the pages
of the virtues of
lust...smooth skins, beautiful lines
flowering into curves,
butts and in betweens shaved by the razor
of art, hairless
and so alluring to the hairs of my senses
my armpits giggling
my saliva excited so excited about what i can
touch in the mind of the
tired day...this is the start of selfish pleasure
so convenient
nothing to dress for
so cheap
after
it lulls me to sleep and dream
tomorrow i will be out again on a rough journey
after the pleasure
of my lone body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whatever Happens, Move On, Pursue That End
when we begin we already know what distance is
we see it in the stars we hear it from the Siberian winds
we were telling the trees that our beginning was the smile of the snails
that the moss have always been faithful to the stones
at the middle we learned the games of the waves and the seagulls
there is always the happy chase between respect and dignity
like the moon how it sits on the black horizon how it lightens the silence
you want to know the intimacy of the wind and the cliff
how they have become almost the same in sonorous sounds
sometimes you sense the semblance of surrender
not wanting to go on and be the roots of the trees and the grass
i have touched the tips of your hair, though short, but that is enough
my wings have fully grown and the winds are waiting
i am destined for something else beyond the touch of your hands
i do not know how my story shall end, but the voices are assuring
whatever happens, tell me, for once, that you too shall find yourself
do not turn back, pursue the end without the trembling, the remorse of pain
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’
‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’
‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
When the grass turned white and the acid rain
Caused all the trees to drown.
They left when the river turned yellow mud
And the fields died under the road,
When men built towers of thirty floors,
They left the town in droves.’
The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon.
‘The birds of Wenzhou took their nests
And travelled to old Hangzhou.
They went to live by a wondrous lake
That tales will tell, is blue...’
‘Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei...
Have they forsaken you? ’
8 November 2005
poem by David Lewis Paget
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I Got It (feat. Trina)
ya'll know where we taking this
JE ya'll Nas (i got it) so so def uhh
I'm nasty (nasty)
never let a pretty face past me (past me)
c'mon ya'll knowin' this easy (yeah)
for me to get a good girl turn her out to sleezy and trashy
she's freaky (freaky)
live in the bed
big baby girl eyes roll in her head
this is what you need
my mission is to please
hands to the sky
Nas JE
[JD]
Now your girl said you were out looking for me
If so, then you need to come and see
If you're ready for a night that you will never forget
I'll give you pleasure and real love
If you let me...
Baby tell me what it is you want from me
Don't beat around the bush if you want my body
If you want it girl, I got it
Come and get with me
Girl I'll turn your body inside out
And bring extasy
If you want it, baby come and bring your body to me
If you need it, girl I got it, got it
Got-got-got got it, come on
cs (Girl I got it)
Shake, shake it baby
Shake, shake it
Shake, shake it mama
Shake for JD
Let me see you
Shake, shake it baby
Shake, shake it
Shake, shake it mama
Shake for JD
Let me see you
[JD]
Now your girl said you were out looking for me
If so, then you need to come and see
If you're ready for a night that you will never forget
I'll give you pleasure and real love
If you let me...
Baby tell me what it is you want from me
Don't beat around the bush if you want my body
If you want it girl, I got it
Come and get with me
Girl I'll turn your body inside out
And bring extasy
If you want it, baby come and bring your body to me
If you nee
song performed by by Jagged Edge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waves to fall in love
Men eyes heave on woman as waves, on the shore.
Each wave of men has got a crush on her.
Waves in succession rise and fall ashore,
Each flash yielding innumerable droplets,
That have very much bearing on the shore.
Do they do without a purpose?
Do they do without any pleasure?
Is not the pleasure itself a purpose?
Acts of love are an on-going pleasure.
It purrs the senses, thanks to dopamine.
It enlivens the body, thanks to Endorphin and Enkaphalins.
Loving is like breathing, with t he end in not view.
30.12.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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