The Lovely Encounter
if you could only see what
i have seen as i try to write these lines
how many times have i told you
about seeing love and then
writing about it?
love is not just an idea
there is flesh, younger flesh on strong bones
there is that softness of the hair
the scent of magnolias
there is this sound of the sea breeze
there is color like the yellowness of the fabric
that covers desire
there is this taste of a little salt from the sea
the sweetness of cherry
and the flavor of rum and
the sound of a hum
if you could only see what i see and feel and taste and touch
what i have here beside me
i know you
shall forget writing these lines
... you shall write everything about all these
after.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
No One Can Stop Us To Write
and they must know the reason why,
simple enough
we are writers and our essence is to write
for writing's sake
nothing aimed nothing gained nothing lost
we write because we are here
and we are here because we write
we write because if we do not
we no longer become ourselves
we lose our salt we become just like any
flesh, rotten, infected with bacteria
foul, and finally become just dust
on the corner of the road
we write and we keep on writing
because we are
we do not need the praise
or the condemnation
we do not need an audience
or an empty space
we write because we are
that is our essence and no one can stop us
except perhaps when the word is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Can Write Poetry All Day Long
I CAN WRITE POETRY ALL DAY LONG
I can write Poetry all day long
But what will it give me?
There is just so much others will listen to
If anything?
And what is the value of writing words to myself for myself
Even if I love them
And believe they are real poetry,
And know in my soul
That their music is real?
I can write Poetry all day long
Or think I am writing poetry
When I am not-
Am I writing poetry now?
I feel I am-
Within me there is the song and the sound
There is the music of poetry
But is it real
Or only my self- deception?
Can I write poetry all day long?
Can I write poetry at all?
I am writing poetry now
Or so I tell myself-
But as I write this
The music within
Is already fading
And I hear in myself
The silence of my own lonely sound.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Am An Old Man Writing A Poem
I AM AN OLD MAN WRITING A POEM
I am an old man writing a poem
I have been writing a poem all my life
The lines seem somewhat blurred now
But what I have written
Will say I hope
Something of what we are
And what we have been
And what we will be.
I am an old man still writing a poem
And I love with all my heart all those
Who have lived their lives-
in one way or another – with me
I do not know how to thank you-
I write these lines to thank you
And pray for the goodness and blessing
Of your lives and the lives of those you love-
And will love-
Now here
And in all your time to come.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When You Read This
when you read this
poem, i am letting you know
that i still care,
when you continue reading on
the next line
you are letting me know
what i still know
that you still care for me too
and then you are angry
about how presumptuous can i be
and so i make another line
and another line and if you continue reading
more of these lines
in this poem
you are letting me know
that you are still angry about
my untimely departure
that moment when love was
still strong
when desire was at its peak
and then you think things over
how you have been
unwittingly betrayed by my words
and you keep on
reflecting if these lines still
say the same
meanings and i keep on writing
more lines
hoping that you will understand
what i have not said
because i cannot say them
because my self
cannot lie by saying them to
you because i do not wish to
hurt you because i still
love you and then i write lines
that ask
if you still love me but then
i must put an end to all
these useless writing
time has spoken
as the lines of fate and
destiny still have it
we were never meant for
each other
the love is there
the bodies still alive
our hands never reach
till then
perhaps in the next life
at the right moment
perhaps when
our parallel lives meet
at some point
of convergence
and as you read let me put
the last line: goodbye
May God make us
meet and love again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And So I'm Writing...
I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing
May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing
May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing
May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing
Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing
May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Poem I Am Writing Now
The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-
Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -
The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.
Why then write these words now?
The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.
But why should this mean anything to anyone else?
The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.
The poem I am writing now
is written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If I Write A Few Lines
IF I WRITE A FEW LINES
If I write a few lines
My mind will open
My heart will take heart
I will begin to believe in myself again.
If I write a few lines
I will say that I still somewhere am alive,
Writing these lines
In such deep deep sadness and trouble,
I try
And word by word
Squeeze out a bit of Hope.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sunset (the One We Agreed Upon)
i like your sunset
flaming firmament
hues of fire, red hot iron and orange fruit combined
tasting like salt and sugar and vinegar to me
v-shaped seagulls like fighting planes
and the silence of the vast space
like i am in the library
the librarian on sick leave
and all the books are taken
did i forget the flavor?
(remember we agree on a poem with a color, taste, sound, smell
and whatever)
vanilla, and the sound, i already told you,
pssst, silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Have You Ever Tasted The Breeze Of Love...?
Love, i call your name, beckon you to my senses
Won't you love with me.....taste the moist breeze
Your touch, i require when you're beside me, girl
Touch my face.....feel the heat.....burning madly
Upon your breasts i place my moist, anxious lips
You pull me close to my desire and embrace me
Comes the breeze, 'n its genisis of sweeted mist
Raindrops cool my summer flesh......steam rises
Then comes the scent of loves amorous capture
Release the surging pour...of your honeyed love
Upon my tongue, an' l place it on your warm lips
Come with me and pleasure in loves feral breeze
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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I Fear My Own Silence
I FEAR MY OWN SILENCE
I fear my own silence
I fear the end in life in writing
Before my life has ended-
I force myself to go on
I feel my own inadequacy
I feel I am writing poor lines.
I sense it would make more sense to stop
I should stop
I can’t stop
I need to write
Even if my writing is only the scribbling of an amateur fool who has wasted his life in words and more words
I write this now in the darkness before the morning has begun
Will I walk to Shul this morning justified?
Or do I know these lines now too
More of the same self- indulgent nonsense
No one needs but myself?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Writing To
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?
Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
With every sound, taste, and light.
The worlds get get oh so oh so bright
Understand that which is not so forthright
This is my night, and day.
So come on join me, please this way.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Why Do I Need These Few Lines So?
WHY DO I NEED THESE FEW LINES SO?
Why do I need these few lines so?
I write and I write
Wherever I go.
Nothing I am
And nothing I’ll be
But writing is what
Makes me-me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Ooh Aah
Hey baby.I know you want me.
Whether it's wrong or right.
I wanna be with you tonight.
So get your things and let's go.
Let's get outta here.
How you doing baby?
You looking good.
And if you could stay with me.
Oh girl.I know you would.Yeah.
I haven't seen you.
In a long time.
But the love you gave to me.
Is constantly on my mind.
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
There's nothing wrong.
With the way I feel.
Because your loving.
Oh girl.It gives me chills.Mmm Hmm.
You wouldn't be smiling.
If I was wrong.
So bring your loving.
To me all night long.
I like it when you moan
You say....
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
Wanna love it.
Wanna touch it.
Let me lay your body down.
Wanna feel it.
Wanna taste it.
Let me hear you make a sound.
Wanna love it.
Wanna touch it.
Let me lay your body down.
Wanna feel it.
Wanna taste it.
Let me here you make a sound.
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Wanna love it.
Wanna touch it.
Let me lay your body down.
Wanna feel it.
Wanna taste it.
Let me hear you make a sound.
Wanna love it.
Wanna touch it.
Let me lay your body down.
Wanna feel it.
Wanna taste it.
Let me here you make a sound.
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
Ooh Aah Oh Oh
(You know I want it)
song performed by by Avant from My Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write
Write, keep writing lot
Write, write before you forget
Write, make it as reminder
Write, write before words disappear
Write, for you to contemplate
Write, write before your mind changed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To A Friend That I Have Only Felt
if i shall not hear the sound of the wind again
i shall think of the shell
i shall imagine the flesh that once was there
the taste of my own tongue
i shall for a while remember but i cannot assure you
till when
for i am but a shell myself and time shall wrap me too
with emptiness
i shall be carried by the winds too and my tongue shall
not remember the taste of flesh the taste of water
and my skin shall not feel any coldness of the wind
my eyes cannot see what light has been in that previous darkness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands
Hello (to whom it may concern) ,
It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.
I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.
Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.
To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.
I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.
hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)
Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whos Been Writing On The Wall Again
Someone keeps on telling me how much he loves me so
Writes it on the wall outside so I will always know
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori, I love you , lori, I love you
Evry evening I come home , its waiting there for me
Three little words, one little voice , someone I cant see
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hes write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when I meet him ,Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hed write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when meet him , Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again (fade)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Will I Do Today And What Will I Do Tomorrow?
What will I do today and what will I do tomorrow
And what will I do for the rest of my life?
Write and write and write
Until I can no longer write –
And even if this writing is never known?
And even if this writing is wholly lost?
And even if this writing is not really worth very much?
And even if it is known only a little?
And even if others are highly critical of it?
And even if it seems vanity of vanity and only vanity?
Write and write and write
To the end of my life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Feeling The River Flowing Inside Me
I didn't think about whether I was writing poems.
I was thinking.
And the more I was thinking,
the more there was I didn't understand
— David Anti
did i have as my goal to understand?
no it isn't, it is merely to feel how i feel,
and keep a record about it,
i write like a river, actually
i do not know where i am going,
i just go with the flow, i close my eyes
and feel the
flow, and not ask where am i going?
for that is not the question
and there will be no answers, nothing specific
it is only the flow, and the sound, and the color and
the scent,
i am told, all rivers go to the sea
it is the truth, and i do not question it.
i do not ask any understanding about the sea when i arrive there.
again it is just a feeling.
perhaps, you may change the term
it is possibly faith
understated.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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