The Flower In The Living Room
there is this flower
inside a vase early this
morning in the living room
of the house
when everyone had left
to their offices
and somewhere else
in my loneliness it give
delight
like your poem Meg
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Does It Feel To Fly
from a walk early morning
you enter the door
of your house
you see a glass vase
with a red rose
alone in the
living room
you go near and smell
the rosiness
of the rose
and gaze at it
as though it is the only
rose of your
home
you feel
a heart with wings
you fly
like a very light feather
on the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Need For A New House....Or Home...
early morning
when the doors are still closed and the windows still tipsy
like the whole house
you fly away
the sun comes out with the clouds
early morning you fly away
away from it all
the clouds are floors and grasses
and you are a lonely bird among a flock of chairs
early morning you fly away
thinking about nothing
you fly away and you feel like a leaf inside
that gentle beast
it is a ride-awA Need For A New House....Or Home...ay
among the paradoxes of life
and its ironies
early morning there is this flight that takes you to a stop-over
of your life
no one knows that you are grieving
over a search for what you feel
the one you had which you lost
intentionally
among the flock of chairs landing early morning
on unstable floors
early morning you take a cab
you choose still
which house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside A Crowded Room
inside a crowded room
are litters
waste papers, mongol pencils
on the floor,
crumpled sheets of bond paper
paper glasses, and used plastic spoons
a chicken bone
dried catchup and
morsels of bread that the ants
start to take away
light has entered the slits
of the walls
this early morning
it is humid and dark
and i am bringing this white
porcelain vase
put it some water
not filling it to the brim
i have this red rose
that i pick from the garden
i put it there
i open the window
what is it? my friend
i let delight enter the crowded room
and i want it to stay there for a while.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Every Morning Has Its Own Poem/ Old Age Fades
EVERY MORNING HAS ITS OWN POEM/ OLD AGE FADES
Every morning has its own poem
Old age fades and goes away in the grey of the early morning day
Every day has its own poem
Every time of life
Hope too is also given to those with few years left
Old age has a poem
I am trying to write it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Room Is Your Room Now
i
my room is your room now
and my arms yours too
my lips are ready for your
warm kiss and you may
have them as yours
ii
for this house is your house
my body is your body
for my love is your love
and my longing is your longing too
iii
this is my heaven and it is yours too
all the angels sing for you
and they also sing for me
iv
you and me in this loneliness
you and me in this hapless mess
v
so i am a tree, a house, arms, lips and body
so i am heaven, room, and window and door
so i am open for you and so you are here with me
you are my guest and i am your host
there is no reason for you to be angry
and if you happen not to like it here
you may leave early the next morning
and please you do not have to say an angry word
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Love That Does Not Die
early morning
how can birds be seen inside this room?
how can an agnostic be so definite about
the blueness of the skies?
early morning
there is no sun here
where i have sacrificed so much
about writing
and i think of you
because i have loved you
such thoughts
grow flowers in the fertile fields of my tongue
my eyes become suns
my ears twin mountains
from my palms birds nest and lay their egss
in my heart
another universe is born
inside this room
the door shall not be opened
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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an Ode to Loneliness....
Loneliness need not be feared.
IT is one of the most common guests in your house.
If you fear it, it will tease you and prolong your
agony.
If you, however, meet it at the gate, and welcome it to your house,
give it some drinks, feed it well, and offer it your room, ask it to sleep with you
for ten days,
Then it will look at you from the tip of your hair to the tip of your toe and say, ' This man knows me, and has a deep thinking, he knows how to nurture me,
and take good care of a bleeding heart'
And then it will have second thoughts in deciding to stay in your house
and sleep with you in bed
It has lost its use and finally arrive at the conclusion ' You are a strong man,
you know how to live. You talk to God, and compassionate about
the pain of silence'
And then without saying goodbye
sans the note or words of departure, it leaves you and your house
looking for those who are still living on their closed houses,
on shallow waters
For indeed, Loneliness also chooses those who deserve it
Now you smile, you close the door because it is already dark,
close the windows because there is no moon,
and somehow you think about it,
honestly, you miss
what you have become so familiar about
it has become dear to you
and clearer now
it has become a part of you
like a key inside your
pocket.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted A Poem In The Early Morning-Even Before The Darkness Had Gone
I WANTED A POEM IN THE EARLY MORNING
I wanted a poem in the early morning
Even before the darkness had gone-
I wanted to hear words
That meant music
That said I was alive and could write-
I wanted a poem in the early morning
So that I could be justified
For the rest of the day-
Time and again I have written that poem
I write it now -
How wonderful when it flows as if it is real
I may never know that it is
But in writing it, thank God, I feel alive and blessed
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted A Poem For The Morning
I wanted a poem for the morning
A poem to begin the day with-
A poem which would give my life hope -
I wanted a poem
Which would say I am alive
A good poem a kind poem
A poem which would make others a bit more happy-
And as so often
I wrote a poem
And left it as a question for the longer daylight and
the longer night which also is our life
beyond the morning-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Morning is The Poetess
as you relax
this early morning
you meet it ... and
greet it,
saying hello to its
newly arrived light
from the window of your
soul
from the gates of your
temple
from the warm arms
of your room
you hug
a very intangible
lover .... this morning
this cool
beautiful morning
dressed in light
golden
you do not compose
a poem for it
it composes a poem
for you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heart Is A Vase
A heart is a vase
Love is a flower we put in the vase
Passion is the water for the flower
But romance, respect, trust, and commitment
Is the sunshine that makes the flower bloom
(2011)
poem by Michael Ernst
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I Picked A Flower
I picked a flower from a bush
And I loved it so
Put it in a vase next to my bed
But how was I to know
That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour
The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know
That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go
And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know?
poem by Shobhita Singh
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Loneliness
Heart breaks in loneliness.
A frosty morning; daylight repeals it, and I feel loneliness
on the eve of the day.
When it rains,
a swallow wants to denote a song.
But, after that world calls loneliness.
I see the river flowing, and I come closer to the bank.
I heard the river roaring more in loneliness.
When I stay in my study room
thinking past events, my conscience becomes more powerful in loneliness.
It’s better to stay sometimes in loneliness.
We need sometimes to alleviate pains in loneliness.
You see, love often adorns more homage in loneliness.
Loneliness…………………..
When a war ends,
It becomes time to return for soldiers in loneliness;
and we all mourn in loneliness.
Then we realize what peace is!
One day we all have to say the world ‘good bye’ in loneliness.
Yes, loneliness ……….
poem by Bibhakar Dutta
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The Sound Of My Footsteps
i open the door
i enter this house
its windows closed
its chairs set aside
along the corners
of the corridors
the sound of my
shoes making
footsteps
reverberates
in the living room
it is like the lonely
poem you wrote
for me
footsteps taking
the stairs up the
second floor leading
to an empty room
nobody lives here
anymore
you explained
one day
this was a happy home
until all of them
were shot
dead, by the lone
gunner,
what was his name again?
you told me once
his name is loneliness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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on the 26th of July
i will have a room
at the Waterfront Hotel
Room 302
i will be alone
and will not
tell you
that i am there
it will be a big surprise
for you
unless you read this poem
today
there is a promise
in my words
each syllable has
desire
this poem shall be
a poem of passion
for us
this poem shall
not lie
this poem shall wait
for you
this poem shall
give you
so much pleasure
i have taken
already the element
of pain
and disgust
this poem shall see you
and you shall
not be disappointed again
yes, davao on a big day for just the two of us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Many Times Have I Written The Morning As A Poem?
How many times have I written the morning as a poem?
This morning too is a poem-
How bright and beautiful
How filled with light
How flower- rich and spring scented
How quiet and calm
How new
How fresh the world beginning again
The morning is the poem today also
though I cannot know what will be
in the day to come.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Another Bright Day
you start your life early, as usual, four in the morning
when the rest are still asleep
you start organizing your thoughts for the day
hopefully a brighter one
unlike yesterday's storm
when the house was closed
when there is nothing practical about
opening a window
you like this feeling of having written
another poem
a brighter one perfumed with delight
you write the last line
and put there the word
happiness
and then you put the graphics
of a daisy where a butterfly
flutters its proboscis
tickling the center of the
pistil of this flower
that you offer
for yourself
it is a bright day
you open the door remembering some dance steps
in the green grass of your father's yard
the roses that mother always love
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I hide myself within my flower
903
I hide myself within my flower,
That fading from your Vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me—
Almost a loneliness.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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