The Eyes Are Not That Keen
the hand knows how to
deceive the
lazy eyes
and the mind pleases
itself with
such a magic
paper shreds turning
into peso bills
the rod transforms into
a bouquet of daisies
the black hat giving birth
to a white rabbit
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Little Request To The Magician Who Pleased Me For A While
dear magician
i thank you for your tricks
indeed your hands
are skilled and my eyes
are failing me
i am amazed by the rabbit
popping out from your
black hat
the roses blooming
from your palms
the staff that turned
to rope
the newspaper cutting
becoming peso bills
but with due respect
may i ask you to perform
the last magic for the day
and hope that this may
not be a form of request
that may cause you
sorrow
for parting is such
between us
please make yourself
disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Final Wish For The Magician
between us and the magician
what do you find?
the ahs and ohs and omgs
it is his hands and it is our very own eyes betraying us,
we wish that all these miseries can be solved
with the use of the sleigh of his hands
we reflect once more when we are so silent
his hat giving birth to rabbits
his black baton turning into flowers
his handkerchiefs into butterflies
his newspaper folds turning into dollar bills
the magic does not really work
we take things as they are now
and we let him know at the end of the show
we wish that he'd disappear from our view.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My First Bouquet
He brought to me a sweet bouquet
that sparkled in the light.
I touched the hand that picked the flowers,
daisies all so white.
When he left I held them close
afraid that I might cry.
If only I could keep them
and never let them die.
But tears that flow
and flowers that grow
can both be dried you know?
Thinking of this brought a smile,
never a falling tear.
My first bouquet would last forever
inside pages I revere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Bouquet
He brought to me a sweet bouquet
that sparkled in the light.
I touched the hand that picked the flowers,
daisies all so white.
When he left I held them close,
afraid that I might cry.
If only I could keep them
and never let them die.
But tears that flow
and flowers that grow
can both be dried you know.
The thought of this brought a smile
and never brought a tear.
My first bouquet would last forever
between pages I revere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Faces Of God
The black man told me that God's face is black
I argued white but then I took it back
As God may be black and it would seem to me
That God's the colour that one wish to see.
The woman told me that God is a she
I argued with her of course God's a he
But having thought on it I changed my mind
If God was born God came of Woman-kind.
The young girl told me her rabbit's God her rabbit she adore
But I could not agree with her I've heard it all before
But then I thought maybe she's right and who am I to disagree
And perhaps her rabbit may be God if God in him she see.
God may be black or brown or white, god may be he or she,
God may be even young girl's pet if God in him she see,
God's different to most people to every creed and race
And to every Nationality God has a different face.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Paper
Paper promises, Dunstead said,
paper cups, wallpaper being stuck
up on the wall for the next to last
time, paper tigers, paper to wipe
the ass and best of all paper to
create art, to have it from the heart,
to see it out there, being gazed at,
studied by some bearded guy with
glasses and paper money to buy
the next paper to create and then
if I’m lucky the muse turning up on
time and giving me the big nudge
in the right direction or some paper
picture of some nude dame giving
the long time wished for erection.
poem by Terry Collett
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White Magic Women
White magic women seen walking on the rode
White magic women with poison lips and bitter eyes
White magic women with that black magic hair
White magic women with skin and bones
I saw that white magic women on that rode
I saw her kiss you with those poison lips and stare with bitter eyes
I saw that black magic hair
I saw that white magic women with skin and bones
I saw that white magic women
poem by Jasmine Shipp
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White Angel the Easter Rabbit
Out of a lovely fantasy…..,
She appeared one Springtime day…..,
And made our world……,
So happy in every way……,
It was a vision so wondrous……,
As we colored our eggs…..,
For the Easter Holiday
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Brought sunshine to our lives…..,
When it came to joy we had it…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
She’d hop, hop, hop….,
All day long…..,
Be dancin’ around……,
And singin’ a song…..,
As Easter came so merrily…..,
She was so much fun for us to see……,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Brought sunshine to our lives…..,
Lovin’ her was a tireless habit……,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
But poof just like each night and day……,
Her visit soon had to end …..,
So she hop, hop, hopped on her way……,
Off to visit her fairytale friends……,
As we sadly bid farewell to her…….,
She said, “Come on now, don’t cry…..,
I’ll be back again some Easter Day”…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Brought sunshine to our lives…..,
When it came to joy we had it…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit…..,
Pure white gold in 24 karat…..,
White Angel, The Easter Rabbit….! ! !
(2011)
poem by Trade Martin
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The Girl With Magic Eyes
I sit in thought
My hand to head
My heart it wants to cry
My face turns sides
My smile sheds
The girl with magic eyes
The piece of mind
My eyes they tear
My brain it starts to fry
Vanished in air
I cannot hear
The girl with magic eyes
To see her face
Deep in my mind
My breath it starts to sigh
Touch her soft skin
I like this kind
The girl with the magic eyes
To breathe her smell
Just from a thought
I feel like I should die
To taste her lips
That I have fought
The girl with magic eyes
To have her close
Is all I want
I stare into the sky
Stuck to my dreams
My mind she haunts
The girl with magic eyes
poem by Paul Celano
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Magic
Magic,
Can attract.
To...
Keep one mesmerized,
All their lives.
And...
Without a fantasizing it,
To...
Hynotize for somebody's,
Benefit.
Magic...
Will attract.
And...
Keep one seeking to stay hook,
As if it was a drug to eat and cook.
A magic!
Whether black or white,
Is a magic...
To not be denied,
As magic...
From another place.
Removing everything taken once for granted.
It's magic!
Whether black or white,
Is a magic...
To not be denied,
As magic...
From another place.
Removing everything one took for granted.
It's magic,
From another place.
Removing everything taken once for granted.
It's magic!
Whether black or white,
And removing everything to clear one's eyes.
Magic...
Will attract,
A magic!
Whether black or white,
Is a magic...
To not be denied,
As magic...
From places unseen.
And removing false things people claim to dream.
Magic...
Will remove things seen people always take for granted.
A magic...
Will remove false things people claim to dream.
A magic...
Will remove things seen people always take for granted.
It's magic...
That removes false things people claim to dream.
It's magic...
That removes things seen people always take for granted.
Magic...
Will remove false things people claim to dream.
A magic...
Will remove things seen people always take for granted.
It's magic...
That removes false things people claim to dream.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Living Inside Your Mind...
when one lives inside his mind these things may happen:
there is a rabbit, he smells a labyrinth and goes inside one of those
entrances, holes, and feels finally that it is falling and falling
into a deep abyss and
lands on a certain floor but there is darkness everywhere
and the labyrinths multiply like cancer cells
and it tries to find an entrance again,
feeling lost he smells nothing and begins to panic since the labyrinths
spread like some capillaries on the skin...
the palpitations become a ticking bomb and before the rabbit knows it
an explosion occurs, and the rabbit becomes one crushed red melon...
the mind however is a Good Samaritan, it blanks itself,
closes the eyes, and opens them again to see new beginnings...
the moral lesson is this sense of loss and
the euphoria of having found yourself again in the same mind
now there are no rabbits coming out from the magic of the black hat
there are persons, friends, superiors, subordinates, acquaintances
faces that you can recall with their name tags on
it is a good sunny day. Walk under the sun and forget about those
convoluted thoughts. Now live within your body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Stop, Face Reality
you have shown me
how to convert
this newspaper strips
into money
how this flower
turns into a white
rabbit
how the rabbit turns
into a hat
then back to a newspaper
strips again
magician, i am tired
of your illusions
how your hands
deftly deceived my
weaker eyes
now i have my last request
please perform this magic:
make yourself disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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279
you have shown me
how to convert
this newspaper strips
into money
how this flower
turns into a white
rabbit
how the rabbit turns
into a hat
then back to a newspaper
strips again
magician, i am tired
of your illusions
how your hands
deftly deceived my
weaker eyes
now i have my last request
please perform this magic:
make yourself disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faded Red Roses
She stood at the alter
A gown of white she did wear
With a bouquet of red roses
And blue ribbons in her hair
She waited for someone
Who was never to come
Tears leaked from her eyes
Across her cheeks did run
The bouquet of red roses
For her wedding day
Have all now faded
As time slipped away
Those faded red roses
She still holds in her hand
Years have come and gone
Waiting for this man
You’ll still find her
With tears in her eyes
As the hopes he’ll still come
Fade like the roses
Washed too much by the sun
Today she still waits all alone
Those faded red roses in her hand
Is now all that she owns
poem by David Harris
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White and Black
Paper white
Money black
Day night
We back
And we slack.
White paper
Black money
We can't
change any.
Paper can be white
Money can not be black
Worry not, Santosh
Worry about yourself.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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As I Look At Myself Carefully In The Mirror....
i see time
how convoluted it is
how deceiving like a magician
hiding time
inside the black box
and time
pretends to be a rabbit
or a bouquet of flowers
and excited as i am
to all these magic
i have forgotten
that i am a subject of
time and that
it knows
how to kill me slowly
without my knowing
and i look at time
closely
from my hair
to my belly
to the thickness of
my hands
and the losing of
my balance
what can i say then
about those
beers in my belly?
those furrows
on my forehead?
these silver hairs
these tight lipped
existence
words unsaid
a heart closing
as time shows itself
again
more real this time
like the black hooded
sickle-bearing
anonymity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumns Tryst
We often strolled along this beaten path
Especially in autumn; Oftentimes
For miles. Our steps crushing the leaves beneath
Our feet, releasing magic fragrances.
We’d whiff the fall bouquet, and sniff again,
Then stop to kiss. These things we did before
So many times together... our domain.
A coexistent couple, what is more,
We are an integral part of autumn
As trees and colored leaves, gentle breezes
As God intended. To benignly come
Together like a painting that pleases
The artist. Sauntering with hand in hand
In love. In autumns blissful promised land.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Trip
Like an unripe melon
Like a conquer Magellan
Like a handy capped Helen Keller
There is a moonster in the cellar
He has been there since last November
I was once a member-
Of his palace
Until I was hit in the head with a mallet
Creeping along the halls
I have spotted the moonster in conversation with the white rabbit
Me thinks that white rabbit has a nasty habit-
Of being late
Last time they nearly locked the gate
Is his clock too slow?
Or is telling time his foe?
At least the moonster and purple tiger know
Acid is a trip that is not a trick for kids
But the rabbits white hair show great age
Maybe his mind is like that of a mage
I saw him once pull himself out of his own hat
Very impress for a magician with a assistant gnat
He buzzes around the rabbit’s head, a dark shade of blue
The rabbit does not reek, I have seen him use his wife’s shampoo
If I may take the time
I must say for a rabbit his wife is a dime
I even saw her and purple tiger in the shower at the same time
Of course the white rabbit was too late to catch them of this crime
Just then I told the purple tiger not to eat the white rabbit or the Chinese Girl
“She is your world! ”
You just don’t know it and she will not show it
So he devoured the loaf of bread instead
poem by Vincent Dali
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Field Of Yellow Daisies
We met in a field of yellow daisies
Wild and young and free
And she picked a bouquet for me
She loved me...she loved me not
The daisies didn't lie
They knew better than I...she'd go away..yeah
But they didn't say why
Have you ever been in a field of yellow daisies
Where the air is warm, pure and sweet
Just as if the world is at your feet
She loved me...she loved me not
The daisies didn't lie
They knew better than I
She'd go away.....yeah
But they didn't say why
I may fail like petals from a daisy
But for her love I'll always yearn
Each year when yellow daisies return
She loved me...she loved me not
The daisies didn't lie
They knew better than I
She'd go away.....yeahhhh
But they didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why.........
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Rabbit
Under the hedgerow
The black rabbit pauses
Eyes bright as diamonds.
Fur black as coal
It has survived the sharp vision
And hunting skills of predators.
The rabbit hops away
And a slender stoat appears
Relentlessly following the scent.
poem by Colin Ian Jeffery
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