The Lonely Man
he finished reading a poem
by frost
sips his coffee
and looks to the sea
from his window
inside a room
with a locked door
alone
in order to forget
he begins to caress himself
he begins to do
what he does
with his own
flesh
his imagination
must save him
from the wrath
of his
failure, his guilt
his sin.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Who Knows Where The Poem Begins?
WHO KNOWS WHERE THE POEM BEGINS/
Who knows where the poem begins
And where the inner singing starts?
Who knows when the words are lost inside
And can never be what they really mean?
The questions of our lives we live with
Are greater than the answers we can give
Time will not tell us everything
But only deepen the mysteries
We will take to the grave with us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wanting
She can't help it
The wanting of him
A simple glimpse
Across a crowd
She hides her smile
As her imagination
Goes
Into
Overdrive
Goosebumps rise
Along her flesh
Somewhere deep
A quickening begins
Her heartbeat accelerates
Her blood warms and
Begins to pulsate
As she
Holds on
Always
Yearning
Wondering
If he kissed her
Would she moan
As his mouth consumed her
Enslaved her
As his hands touched her
Caressed her flesh
His nearness makes it difficult to breathe
All of her wishes
To melt into him
Reach out and
Touch
A glimpse of her
Across a room
Leaves
Him
Wanting
Wanting to
Reach out and touch
To hold her face in his hands
Brush the tip of his thumb
Across her soft lips
Caress her skin
Let his hand travel
Travel
Across her throat
Feel her pulse
As it glides
To the back of her head
Grab a fist full of raven hair
Tilt her head back
Look into her languid eyes
Her parted lips
And trace kisses along her flesh
As she forgets
How to breathe
Their wanting of each other
Is hidden well
In the ease and flow
Of a crowded room
Maybe neither knowing
Neither certain
Both aware of the other
Both
Wanting.
poem by Rabia Minhas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Locked Inside Your Prison
Your love is like a prison wall
And its getting higher
I get so far and then I fall
I cant get through the wire
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Its as though Im doing time
And you wont free me
Let the punishment befit the crime
And say you need me
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Save me save me cant you see Im innocent
Turn the key that will set me free
Please let it end oh let it end
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Save me save me cant you see Im innocent
Turn the key that will set me free
Please let it end wont you let it end
Ill dig a tunnel to your heart
Let me remind you
Even gonna tear the walls apart
Until I find you
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This is a shouting poem
This is a SHOUTING poem.
Not a gentle wildflower poem
not a whispering-of-love poem
A SHOUTING POEM.
This is a POSTER poem.
Not a subtly persuading poem.
not a think-about-it poem
A POSTER POEM
This is a HARD OF HEARING poem.
What?
I said a HARD OF HEARING POEM
This is a LOST SPECTACLES poem
to test your sight.
No no not LAST TESTICLES
NO TRY THE NEXT LINE -
A LOST SPECTACLES POEM
This is a HAVE YOU SEEN MY? poem.
I know I put it down somewhere.
Are you sure you haven't seen it?
Oh no, you didn't use it for THAT...?
Why are you laughing it's not funny.
I hadn't even finished it...
This is an ACROSS THE ROOM poem.
Read it while you're in bed
watching TV
doing the ironing
reading the newspapers
putting the new wallpaper up
combing the cat
having a bath
washing the car
talking to the neighbours
gardening
this is an ACROSS THE ROOM POEM
This is a BLOWN ACROSS THE STREET POEM
no need to run after it
and pick it up
just watch it blow
maybe wonder
if you missed anything
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0005 a SHOUTING poem
This is a SHOUTING poem.
Not a gentle wildflower poem
not a whispering-of-love poem
A SHOUTING POEM.
This is a POSTER poem.
Not a subtly persuading poem.
not a think-about-it poem
A POSTER POEM
This is a HARD OF HEARING poem.
A what?
I said a HARD OF HEARING POEM
This is a LOST SPECTACLES poem
to test your sight.
No no not LAST TESTICLES
no try the next line - -
A LOST SPECTACLES POEM
now where did I put them
This is a HAVE YOU SEEN MY? poem.
I know I put it down somewhere.
Are you sure you haven't seen it?
Oh no, you didn't use it for THAT...?
Why are you laughing it's not funny.
I hadn't even finished it...
This is an ACROSS THE ROOM poem.
Read it while you're in bed
watching TV
doing the ironing
reading the newspapers
putting the new wallpaper up
combing the cat
having a bath
washing the car
talking to the neighbours
gardening
this is an ACROSS THE ROOM POEM
This is a BLOWN ACROSS THE STREET POEM
no need to run after it
and pick it up
just watch it blow
maybe wonder
if you missed anything
(revised)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem For Antony From Johanna
I’m sitting at my window
Staring at the world that never changes
Gray skies, with no birds
blank streets down below with faces full of hopes lost
Dreams forgotten
Ambitions that got away
At least they look better than the sky line
Black smoke from old houses and flats
This is my only scenery
My room is filled with light but no pictures or paintings
Only lamps, a bed, and a locked door
That door
The one of my three escapes that will never happen
Besides the 17 foot dropp or death
I remain hopeful that my life will change
Wait...who’s that?
The man with brown hair looking at me through my window
Most men do this
But this is different
He must stop
Stop looking before he sees
How can I get him to stop
I can’t tempt him; I must get out of sight
Is he still there?
He must’ve left
Please have him leave
No he’s still there
Stop calling my name
He will hear
Stop, Please!
Where are you going?
No don’t come inside?
Run!
How can I warn you without him knowing?
Did you escape?
Are you alright?
He beat you
I hear you in the alleyway
What’s that?
He wants to be with me
He speaks of something that cannot be
He can never have
Not without...
The Key!
Please come back tomorrow
Sneak past quietly and I’ll give you the key
Don’t Forget
Remember me in your thoughts
Remember you must save Johanna
Please
Save me
Written: February 24,2010
poem by Ryan Collins
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Every other artist begins with a blank canvas, a piece of paper the photographer begins with the finished product.
quote by Edward Steichen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Opposite Begins
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
That one agitated,
Finds an exit and splits.
People known to create conflict,
Seek an attention they don't get...
Until,
The opposite begins.
Opposition steps in.
They pretend a trust to believe,
To have others perceive but...
The opposite begins,
For them.
Wake up and take notice,
That the opposite begins for them.
Those who charade innocence.
The opposite begins for them.
Those masking evil intent.
The opposite begins for them.
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
Well,
The opposite begins.
The opposite begins.
And...
That one agitated,
Finds an exit and splits.
But then,
The opposite begins.
The opposite begins.
That one who's had it,
Splits and runs into love...
To know the opposite begins,
When someone genuine comes in...
To view.
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
Well,
The opposite begins.
The opposite begins.
And...
That one who's had it,
Splits and runs into love...
To know the opposite begins,
When someone genuine comes in...
To view.
They want it quick.
And...
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
To then see someone who genuinely fits,
Well...
The opposite begins pursued.
Oh yes it does.
An opposite begins pursued.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unrequited Love
In between another heartache faked.
It can be seen and felt although not faced.
But too proud to admit of unrequited love.
Nothing reciprocated from it can be claim...
But pain!
In between lips unkissed and missed.
With a proclamation of strength...
As tears drip from eyes like a typhoon,
Has hit an unexpected wall of sobs.
Someone has been robbed of a trusting job held.
Remembering the region of the Philippines.
Or the China sea.
And the cyclone winds dramatized...
To validate images created,
To compare with the whirlwind within.
In between another heartache faked.
It can be seen and felt.
But too proud to admit of unrequited love.
Nothing reciprocated from it can be claim...
But pain!
And a typhoon of a whirlwind within,
Begins.
As my imagination drifts,
To the Orient again.
And a typhoon of a whirlwind within,
Begins.
As my imagination drifts,
To the Orient again.
Again.
And a typhoon of a whirlwind within,
Begins.
As my imagination drifts,
To the Orient again.
But...
Too proud am I to admit of,
Unrequited love.
And a typhoon of a whirlwind within,
Begins.
As my imagination drifts,
To the Orient again.
Again.
And a typhoon of a whirlwind within,
Begins.
As my imagination drifts,
To the Orient again.
But...
Too proud am I to admit of,
Unrequited love.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Backslidden
As you walk with God in your life, you display the character of Christ.
As you walk away from The Lord, your fruit displayed is not ignored,
When a one becomes backslidden, the spirit inside is not that hidden.
A believer begins wrestling deep inside, when his Lord he has denied.
As you walk from His narrow path, you fill up with bitterness and wrath.
As a spirit of anger builds up inside, The Lord’s peace to you is denied.
And the anger begins to stir within, leading your heart and mind to sin.
Then as this anger turns into rage, sound reason begins to disengage.
When from Christ you do depart, His Light begins to leave your heart.
Your heart becomes a raging sea, as it begins to stir up past iniquities.
Your words begin to sow discord, as your heart strays from your Lord.
And Jesus Christ will have no part, of this darkness within your heart.
For when you walk away from Him, Christ’s Light inside begins to dim.
All your peace has been displaced, with no sign of Christ on your face.
Even behind your smiling façade, it is apparent that you left your God.
And the pseudo peace you maintain, within your heart is not the same.
And Christ will continue to let you fall, until you return to The Lord of all.
Friend, Christ died for you to be a light, not to return to the dark of night.
And as long as you resist His Grace, life will be a most miserable place.
If you only return unto The Lord, then His peace to you will be restored.
(Copyright ©04/2005)
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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When the Pain Begun Begins to Mend
When the pain begun begins to mend,
The sky is brighter.
The clouds then start to drift.
The rain dries and the thunder stops.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
A freshness occurs.
The Sun invites a rendezvous.
Just to sit with it,
And feel...
A soothing come over you.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
And you are there...
Ready to be healed,
Feeling a once broken heart...
Being pieced back together,
Completely.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
You are prepared to forget.
Wanting to forgive.
And wishing to be forgiven.
When the pain begun begins to mend!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We forget that what matters begins with the imagination.
quote by Terry Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Journey
when you can look
in the mirror,
and see your self naked
without running like hell...
the journey begins!
when you can look
at your every action,
judging your self honestly
by motive and intent...
the journey begins!
when you can give away
all that you cling to
without asking for anything
in return...
the journey begins!
when you can do the right thing
irregardless of the cost,
not caring what anyone says
or thinks...
the journey begins!
when you can see the faces
of God in the people you
despise the most, the ones
who've hurt you the most...
the journey begins!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ever After
The life of a fairy tale.
Can be like our own.
The ending is happy.
But the story unknown.
The story begins.
Then there’s always a twist.
You can’t get to the ending.
Unless you persist.
Some stop reading the story.
When things, they look bleak.
They don’t have the strength.
Their hearts are too weak.
So they grab a new tale.
Then the reading begins.
If it ends in the middle.
Then nobody wins.
So things just seem hopeless.
Because we always quit.
We don’t finish the story.
To the fear we submit.
God tells us, “Hold on.”
“The ending is near.”
“Just keep reading the story.”
“Don’t give in to fear.”
“Believe in My ending.”
“Believe and then hope.”
“That the hero will climb up.”
“From the end of his rope.”
And so you continue
The prince finds his queen
The greatest fairy tale ending
You ever had seen
But had you not finished.
The true ending unknown.
The prince would not have a queen.
To share with his throne.
Fairy tales are filled.
With both sadness and laughter.
Where you finish the story.
Becomes your ever after.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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When the Bush Begins to Speak
They know us not in England yet, their pens are overbold;
We're seen in fancy pictures that are fifty years too old.
They think we are a careless race - a childish race, and weak;
They'll know us yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
'The leaders that will be', the men of southern destiny,
Are not all found in cities that are builded by the sea;
They learn to love Australia by many a western creek,
They'll know them yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
All ready for the struggle, and waiting for the change,
The army of our future lies encamped beyond the range;
Australia, for her patriots, will not have far to seek;
They'll know her yet in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
We'll find the peace and comfort that our fathers could not find,
Or some shall strike the good old blow that leaves a mark behind.
We'll find the Truth and Liberty our fathers came to seek,
Or let them know in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Anodyne
Unmasked inside,
we play the games of a torch
the living legend,
great beauty of dirty thoughts.
A twin drama unfolds.
the icon burns and a wealth
of praise drowns the priest.
Now death dance begins.
Neither immersion nor
the float ends the relationship.
The hunger leaps
to death from top floor.
Life is ripped apart.
The swarm of vultures descends,
mating of news begins.
The anodyne is spread on the wounds.
Room to room,
the liquidation begins; of faces, of spots.
A cruel joke is repeated
every day relentlessly,
I wait for the transformation of beginning,
of the ending.
The light to fade and
god to taste like a hot bun.
The dangling doors must close,
for a while to motivate the dreams.
poem by Satish Verma
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