The Mistake
it was a different thing that you see
from that you feel
a war between the bulge of the eyes
and the pumps of the heart
the lines of the palms are clear
nobody wants to mind now
in the middle of too much desire
it is the heart that wins
slashing the blinks of the wondering eyes
the lines of the palms are clear
there is no doubt
the heart bleeds upon its mistake
and begins to remember the veils
and the sonorous sounds of the funeral bells of
the little town
the lines of the palms are clear
there is no doubt about it
at the end every part shall accept the fate
no regret
once again the self rides upon the wings of destiny
until the final word of the years rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Open Palms
morning demands
the laying of open palms
on the table
and the palms agree
and then the wind comes
and took all the lines away
the hands do not mind
this is the last day of the body
the heart is full of joy
the mind has no word
the eyes close
and the lips finally sealed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Patteran
From over the leagues of ice and snow, and the miles of scorching sand;
From back of the days of long ago, and the lonely sea and land—
To the end of the world and our Gipsy race, to the death of our dark-eyed line,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine,
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine—
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
I have given them health and strength, pure blood, clear skins for a glorious youth;
I have set in their souls contempt for sham, and a deathless regard for truth;
I have bequeathed the spirit to fight, I have given the will to rise,
And the slumbering fires of Hate and Love in their dreaming, dreaming eyes.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
I have given the love for their native land, wherever that land may be
(My children came from the East, my friends, and round by the Northern Sea),
And a son of a son of mine enemy, to the end of his treacherous line,
Shall be stricken to earth, if he dare but speak, by a son of a son of mine.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
poem by Henry Lawson
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X2
finding the self in the self
gives you the wrong path
do not look to the stars
you are never there
look at the ground and
touch the hand of the blind
talk to the mute and be
the ears of the deaf
only can you find your eyes
in their eyes
your hands can feel the
warmth
that is not found within the
lines of your palms
only then can you hear
the sounds of your longing
that you can only understand
from their hunger
yourself is not in yourself
it is in the other
your heart is not in your
chest
it is in the emptiness of
another.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm Eighteen
Lines form on my face and hands
Lines form from the ups and downs
I'm in the middle without any plans
I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen
and I don't know what I want
Eighteen
I just don't know what I want
Eighteen
I gotta get away
I gotta get out of this place
I'll go runnin in outer space
Oh yeah
I got a
baby's brain and an old man's heart
Took eighteen years to get this far
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about
Feels like I'm livin in the middle of doubt
Cause I'm
Eighteen
I get confused every day
Eighteen
I just don't know what to say
Eighteen
I gotta get away
Lines form on my face and my hands
Lines form on the left and right
I'm in the middle
the middle of life
I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen and I LIKE IT
Yes I like it
Oh I like it
Love it
Like it
Love it
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen and I LIKE IT
song performed by by Alice Cooper from Essentials
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Here And Now
for the meantime take the here and now
what choice do we have?
we are beggars we have nothing
we were taken here
without our knowing we were naked
we were spanked on the very first hour of our arrival
in mother' bed in that cheap government hospital
there were no fathers or priests or
politicians
they heard our first cry
and since then
life begins to have no meaning
what we have is the here and now
but will that be an end? a misdemeanor? will that be a burden
forever? a curse?
a suffering that is senseless
a sorrow that is soaring and roaring?
the here and now is in our palms
look at it closely, there are tiny lines there
the directions and instructions are there
embedded
we shall trace where we are and where we are going
in the tiny lines of our palms
we locate our hidden fortunes we shall find where the secret lies
the real meaning
of this existence and if need be
we must create and invent what we will be
in the future
let us see from our feelings the coolness of blue
the fires of red
the clouds, the sun and the moon all lie in the hold of our hands
from this here and now
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eighteen
Eighteen
Alice Cooper
(Bruce, Cooper, Dunaway, Smith, Buxton)
Lines form on my face and hands
Lines form from the ups and downs
I'm in the middle without any plans
I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen
and I don't know what I want
Eighteen
I just don't know what I want
Eighteen
I gotta get away
I gotta get out of this place
I'll go runnin in outer space
Oh yeah
I got a
baby's brain and an old man's heart
Took eighteen years to get this far
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about
Feels like I'm livin in the middle of doubt
Cause I'm
Eighteen
I get confused every day
Eighteen
I just don't know what to say
Eighteen
I gotta get away
Lines form on my face and my hands
Lines form on the left and right
I'm in the middle
the middle of life
I'm a boy and I'm a man
I'm eighteen and I LIKE IT
Yes I like it
Oh I like it
Love it
Like it
Love it
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen and I LIKE IT
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Slow....
slowly
one finds what had long been missing,
it is not seen
it is just felt by the lines of the palms
by the tips of
the fingers
slowly one remembers the scent
it is not seen
it is getting inside the nerves
of the nostrils
and then one begins to remember
and then
the lips begin to part
shaping that
lonesome
smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Diastolic With a Sweetened Beat
On the outside you can see it and it's plain to see,
I am on the inside hiding some denial in me.
And you believe,
I'm aware of it and know it.
Just because...
It's obvious and shows.
But I don't.
The only thing that's here that my heart can feel,
Is a wish and desire to have someone who is real.
But you play games...
Of playing hard to get.
As if I've met...
The only one who can 'read' me!
And from I can not leave.
You think I'm going to be a part of your dichotomy.
But my mind is not neurotic.
Nor my heart dicrotic leaked.
You are not the one to get me diastatic free.
Nor diastolic with a sweetened beat deceived.
Or freeze my heart stone cold.
Those lines you use are much too old....
For you,
On me...
To use.
You think I'm going to be a part of your dichotomy.
But my mind is not neurotic.
Nor my heart dicrotic leaked.
You wont diastatic me,
To get a diastolic beat.
Or freeze my heart stone cold.
Those lines you use are just too old.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Interactive
I write some lines and you read each word
A word excites you and you take it up to
Seed your fields where you grow your own
Shrubbery of words with tendrils climbing
I look at your garden of words and there is
This word growing into a flower attracting
Me I pick it up this sensual flower and I
Seed it in the lines of my mind now another
Bunch of words like ripe grapes I take one
Swallow it and savor the taste of its sweetness
More lines of words in my throat sliding
Through the lining of my esophagus so smooth
Going straight inside the veins leading to my heart
Sweet, so sweet I could have written the usual
Lines of “ I love you, I miss you” but I couldn’t
There is this roadblock, this writer’s block
The lines stopped, the words are stunted
I stutter, I retreat to my eyes, to see
The face of this woman I love, her eyes
Are gentle, she smiles at me, and waits
For this beautiful silence that gives her life
You stand there, looking for a hint, another
Word to seed the lines waiting to be written.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For Wanting To Write....
perhaps, because of this
i may end up
with a head cut, or
a body shredded like
cheese,
tired limbs like
burnt toast,
perhaps because of that
i may not reach
what destination is reserved by
the lines of my palms,
perhaps i may not even end at
all,
because here you are
reading these lines
and you will like them
not because they are as palatable
as exotic friend frogs
but because you have felt sorrow
and have the smell of pain
the sound of acidic rain
over your hair
now melting and before you notice it
you too have become bald
because of having known much
than what is permitted by all these lines
it is about us,
it is about our being part of this vast
nothingness
sands of the desert
light of the moon spreading on sands of the desert nights
hushing wind
taking all the possible directions
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reading His Palms For A Hidden Fortune
life's hard he says
he is weary
and wants to die
when he sleeps sometimes
he looks at the lines of his palms
for answers
and then he closes his eyes
as his fingers hang freely beyond
the edge of his bed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Morning Flash
it comes as a flash.
A body.
At first it is just lines and curves.
There is no minding at all
about anything else.
Then follows the scent that
compliments
its newly acquired
existence
its desirability enhanced
by the warmth
of morning hues
by the window of the house.
The scent brings in some
memories of
youth
some places of the heart
like a grassy hill
and an
abandoned hut
faraway.
After a while it is not just
the body
but the tongue
and palms.
The mind starts to creep in
like a cloud
and sunshine from
the south.
IT demands something more
It is not just these memories
and feelings
those touches of hues
and colors and
scents
and eventually taste.
And then the movement.
It coils around you
This psyche
This soul and then you go deeper
into a form
of regret.
This is not the body that you like
But the lines and curves
of some long forgotten
circumstances that want to be
repeated
too often
but can never be
Because there is only one body
one soul
and it is not there
anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time Lines
i have said nothing for time wont allow me.
time lines... time lines... time lines, what i felt for you has turned to confusion.
as time lines up our times together worry overshadows my 'influenced' judgement.
time lines..
our future perfectly sealed for i filled my heart with your promises.
time outlined your feelings for me..
times we spent together seem so far away like the times of the early bud.
our love has lost its will to florish like juliets rose.
time has outlined my affection for you.
time lines.. time lines..
the memories we once cherished together, the lines that have been put between us by time have destroyed the love once shared by you and me.
time has been thought to mend broken hearts ALAS, it has made matters worse.
time lines me and you. time lined our fate through spectatr critiques.
we possess souls joint together by time, YET its time that divides us.
time took its tole on our love.
is this forbidden love? that time has outlined
time lines my emotions of love for you..
time lines my emtions.
time lines.... time lines
poem by Njube Nangamso
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Right love in a wrong Time
life comes from a dear remembrance
of deep feeling of emotion, a dedicated happiness
between two people who shared what is being
in love; a passion that only between lines clot of
immortality of understanding, believing that it will not
end until eternity
thousands of minutes and a million of seconds
witness, the tremendous shake of the whole body,
as turmoil of genes and chromosomes that conquer
the feeling of the ecstacy of cloud nine, a distance of
sensation of somebody whom only the heart can
satisfied the soul that long through out the whole
being of you
it is a suicidal commitment of waiting, of how one's
sacrifice of love can stand, the intense affection that
leads you to decide and live of isolation amongst other
feeling of longing, it is a catch of emptiness of
fulfillment of what the heart clings beyond anything
else you desire
everything has turn to what beneath the lines of what
you dream off and a shout of joy in your soul, that for
moment of yourself, you made the real things to happen
a decision that leads of what is being one to yourself and
the sweet of your heart bleeds to a sweat of souls hanging
in the limbo of nothingness of who you are in God's
creation
pity me not for what is done has made my sacrifice feel
the real in me a destiny of life...may this little spark glows
in every river that flows the crystal blue clear of droplets
in your heart.....please....Forgive me.....my darling
poem by Antonio Liao
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Into the Mystery of the Unknown...
fate has a mind of its own
it tinkers too
and performs an experiment
in you
loves guinea pigs
wonders about worms
inside
the humus of the
mind
fate is not cautious
about the softness of your
sensations
it has a choice of its own
no standards to follow
much of the time
unreasonably unfair
do not lurk like a mad soul
a destroyed
bent misshapen
spirit
it will consider you as
another
statistical mishap
take revenge
erase the lines of your palms
venture into the unknown
where fate
too has never gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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With Doubt
My mind is often filled with doubt
about who I really am.
I know my name and what I be,
but really who am I?
Some say this and some say that,
they are only reflections
of who I really want to be.
My lack of confidence in myself
leaves me lagging behind everyone else
and my mind filled with doubt
about whom I really am.
Dark clouds descend around my head,
no clear sky do I see
and mind is filled with doubt
which disguise is really me.
Will my mind clear one day
and reveal the truth to me
or will I face life with doubt
of who I really be.
17 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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Taqdeer
Apni ungliyon ko dedo mere haathon mein,
Meri lakeerein unhein chhoona chahti hain,
Ki shayad unki taqdeer badal jaaye...
Place your fingers
in the palms of my hands,
the lines of my destiny wish to touch them
may be their destiny will change then...
poem by Always Aparna
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Flame
Like a flame that seeks redemption,
From Aeolus's thrusts,
Via a pair of palms that unite,
To form a monumental wall;
I seek my own pair of palms;
To unite for a simple prayer;
For a miraculous intervention;
Two eyes that stare at mine's;
With a symbiotic dependency.
Oh Gabriel where are thou?
I am waiting, even in my twilight;
As the candle flames on;
In my flimsy vulnerability;
Protected by my beloved's touch;
And St Elmo's fire;
As their palms holds me away;
From the vengeful thrusts of the wind gods;
Walking in the cracked footpaths of destiny;
With a candle in hand;
Waiting for destiny.....
To spring a surprise.
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Where Was The Pen?
they came
visiting in
the night
dazzling
lines from
the divine
they glistened
in the fashion
of crystal clear
water, out to sea
meteor bypassing earth
here i am
in full regret
holding on
to a golden
moment
without
the gold
lines never
to come
knocking
again
and my pen
where was it?
where was it?
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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