The Mists Of The Mountain
we sit here facing the mists of
the mountains
this November as we escape
city life
we catch a glimpse of who we are
what we really are
the mists slowly fade away and we stop
to ponder
we exhale we inhale we taste a moment
of life
we feel a little of death
we prepare for the next step
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Dissed
I am quiet
The clock is slow
The teacher talks fast
I inhale then exhale
I am anxious
The clock moves faster
The teacher is writing on the board
I inhale then exhale
I am excited
The bell is about to ring
The teacher gives the homework assignment
I inhale then exhale slowly
I am nervous
The bell has finally rung
I walk out of class heading in his direction
I can barely breathe now
I am brave
I wait for him to walk my way
He sees me, I open my mouth, but he walks in the opposite direction
I am left motionless
poem by Pamela Mote
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To Write Your Poems The Easy Way
the rhythm is in the huff and puff
the inhale and exhale
of your life, the color is in
the hues of sunrise and sunset
the taste is right there
in your tongue
the kiss of your lips
sweet and sour
and sometimes bitter
we swallow all these
and you hear
how smooth all these
in your ears
like the hush of the wind
one day
in your life
moment by moment
every minute savored
like you have
never lived before
like
tomorrow does not come
like you
loving the person
who loves you
like a push and
a pull
like both of you
engaged to a touch
of eternity
that is the ease
of my poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inhale happiness, exhale love and taste the richness of life!
quote by Michelle Rosenberg
Submitted by Micheleflowerbomb
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Towards the hatch
veils are those days
mists at dawn
foggy afternoons
soft white blankets
at night on the
mountains far from
the city lights
eggshell as white as
as the purity of fear
on an albumin protection
the yellow moon slowly
grows
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How To Tell The Story Of The Cloud
you know how is it with the clouds
the more with air
and mists
they always change and they do it
as quickly as a wink
you know what clouds do
the form upon you some stories
the rainy ones sometimes and you shed tears
in the same manner with the air and mists
the air passes and sometimes you do not even feel it
and so you miss the story that it is bringing
the story of a journey
into somewhere
and the mists bring you some notes about what to do
in the darkness of the night
yet you tarry on the grass and on the side of the hill
you miss the essence of our beings
we are ghosts and we do not know where we are hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Welcome Last Exhale
When most of the breath has left my frame
and not much lies inside
I'll remember when my breath was on fire
as I lay at night by your side.
Lucky to be granted a long life
or unlucky for I'm alone.
Only my remembrance to comfort me
for 'tis all I own.
Once I owned the world with you.
Now, I own despair.
Tears do flow on silent nights
as into space I stare.
I catch a glimpse but soon its gone,
my memory fragile now.
Tomorrow if I come awake
and the Gods allow
I'll pray to leave and find you
and maybe I'll inhale
a long deep breath once again
with a welcome last exhale.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Having a ciggi on the wall
Upon the wall of death I scowl,
where the City air is foul,
so what does it matter if I inhale
I'm going to die soon, anyhow.
The local factory joins in too
its chimneys billow smoke anew
that make the locals cough and spew,
while rushing by to catch the tube.
The wall's my death bed, truth be known
not comfortable or soft or warm
as all my lungs fill up with grime,
this city life's a bloody crime.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Longford Dawns
Of course not all the watchers of the dawn
See Severn mists like forced-march mists withdraw
London has darkness changing into light
With just one quarter hour of any weight.
Casual and common is the wonder grown, -
Time's duty to lift lights curtain up and down.
But here Time is caught up clear in Eternity
And draws as breathless life as you or me.
poem by Ivor Gurney
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The First Time
My senses are heightened
As adrenaline pounds through me
Using my veins
In a personal
Pulsating
Selfish way.
That makes it seem my heart will
Break out of my chest
And,
Dance before my eyes.
Every hair on my body has risen
Expectantly, waiting for you.
I lean towards you
Like soft green grass
Dancing in the breeze.
Breathe
Eyes dilated
Pupils fixated into tiny points.
Searching
Looking
Knowing
As I inhale your sent.
A flood of emotions
Engulf me
Crash against me like waves.
A Tsunami
Hitting pebbles on a beach.
I will be swept away in the moment
Engulfed in your arms
Crushed by your mouth
As it consumes me.
Your tongue has me enslaved.
In your iron grip
My waist is anchored by your hands.
My hips begin to undulate
In some primal dance
That seems to be buried somewhere within me.
I share a secret
That escapes as a sigh in your mouth.
This secret was hidden somewhere within me
Waiting for you to unlock it.
This spell is ancient
It has captured me.
You have my full attention
All senses attuned to you.
I crave the sweetness of your mouth
Your sent
You remind my flesh of its purpose.
Remind my heart why it beats.
Remind me why I breathe.
As I breathe you in
Exhale.
Remind me why I'm alive
Inhale.
Remind me
Exhale.
Who I am
Inhale.
Tell me again and again
Exhale.
Why it is
Inhale.
Why I think
Exhale.
I love you
And forget to breathe.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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The Changes
the ideas come and they do not wait.
they enter your door and they do not knock.
they leave without any permission from your house.
they have colored wings and they simply fly away upon their liking.
they are so beautiful and deep and glistening.
enlightening and you miss them
now you sit there, speechless on the blankness of your world.
why did you not write when they were here beautifully dancing and singing?
you know how is it with the clouds
the more with air
and mists
they always change and they do it
as quickly as a wink
you know what clouds do
the form upon you some stories
the rainy ones sometimes and you shed tears
in the same manner with the air and mists
the air passes and sometimes you do not even feel it
and so you miss the story that it is bringing
the story of a journey
into somewhere
and the mists bring you some notes about what to do
in the darkness of the night
yet you tarry on the grass and on the side of the hill
you miss the essence of our beings
we are ghosts and we do not know where we are hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Is All About Us, Our Beings Lost, Dissipated
the ideas come and they do not wait.
they enter your door and they do not knock.
they leave without any permission from your house.
they have colored wings and they simply fly away upon their liking.
they are so beautiful and deep and glistening.
enlightening and you miss them
now you sit there, speechless on the blankness of your world.
why did you not write when they were here beautifully dancing and singing?
you know how is it with the clouds
the more with air
and mists
they always change and they do it
as quickly as a wink
you know what clouds do
the form upon you some stories
the rainy ones sometimes and you shed tears
in the same manner with the air and mists
the air passes and sometimes you do not even feel it
and so you miss the story that it is bringing
the story of a journey
into somewhere
and the mists bring you some notes about what to do
in the darkness of the night
yet you tarry on the grass and on the side of the hill
you miss the essence of our beings
we are ghosts and we do not know where we are hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O Town And City To Down And Pity !
O TOWN AND CITY TO DOWN AND PITY
O towns and cities!
If anything goes amiss
In your arteries and veins
Town would tumble 'down'
And city would be a'pity'!
Even the winds have no knowledge
Of the lanes and by lanes
Of the labyrinthine towns!
Let me tell you,
It is no wonder;
The day is not far off
When city folks buy air in kilos
From supermarkets,
And in their living burrows
Churn it with their electric fans
All through the day
To collect every disease
Named and unnamed!
If you search their addresses,
Better approach the diseases
That would guide you in a flash
To their miserable homes!
Both their homes and minds,
Lo, have shrunk like small mustard!
The bit of the sky that they could see
Is just to the size of their plates!
If peace is the one they dream for
They would never get it even in death!
Oh, everything is topsy-turvy here!
They inhale carbon-di-oxide
And exhale their own life!
--S.CHANDRA KALAADHAR
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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When the voice [Când însuşi glasul]
And when the voice of thoughts is keeping silent,
A sweet devotion sings with me together,
That's when I call you; will you hear me ever?
Will you escape from those mists dark and violent?
Will you light up the night of my obsession
With your big eyes, so peaceful and so charming,
Rise from the shadow of the times, my darling,
To see you coming like in dreams, with passion.
Climb slowly down... come nearer, then stop pacing,
Over my face lean gently and smile sweetly,
Show me your love and sigh and give me pleasure,
With your long lashes touch my lids in passing
To feel the thrill of your embrace completely,
My everlasting love, but lost for ever!
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by Octavian Cocoş
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Blinded By Shades Of Gray
Sometimes I feel confused and like my heart is broke.
Sometimes I think I'll find inner peace with smoke-
As I inhale the poisons and then exhale them away…
Sometimes I don't know why I think that way-
I guess because I'm blinded by shades of gray-
As I blindly try to find my way...
Sometimes I fly so high-
But the problems are still there, I cant deny-
Because eventually, I have to come back down to reality,
And that's one thing, From which drugs can never permanently set you free...
Sometimes I don't know why
I think that way-
I guess because I'm blinded by shades of gray-
As I blindly try to find my way...
Sometimes I think I'll find my answers,
At the bottom of a glass and I'll try to drink my problems away-
As the world around me blurs-
With bitter-sweet intoxication...
Sometimes I don't know why I think that way-
I guess its just my sometimes foolish imagination-
As I blindly try to find my way...
Sometimes I like to feel pain on the outside-
To mask the pain on the inside…
Sometimes I'll cut my wrists-
Sometimes longing just to end the pain and darkness-
With all this suffering inside-
Thinking that suicide,
Would be okay-
Hoping to bleed to death and fade into oblivion…
Sometimes I don't know why I think that way-
I guess because I'm blinded by shades of gray-
While I feel like the world is a place, Not worth living in-
In which I blindly try to find my way...
I hope its not to late,
To escape
This dark fate-
But for now, I guess I'll just have to wait-
As I long to escape the pain-
To never have to face it again...
But for now, I'll just take my medicine-
To help me forget this dark world, I'm living in...
poem by Philip Alarie
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Don`t Slow Down
You might believe, and still you feel
The chase has just begun;
That you must reach that horizon before
The setting of the sun.
You chase the light in front of you,
Nightfall close behind;
If you stop to catch your breath,
You know what you will find.
(chorus)
Don't slow down don't touch the ground,
You know what you will find;
That old grey man in tattered clothes
Following behind.
No time to stop, don't go to sleep,
Prepare to pay the cost.
The hours and minutes are passing by,
Another day is lost.
Impatience is a virtue,
Catch me if you can.
The seconds have been ticking by
Since your life began.
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunger...
Can you read my heart? passion spilled upon this page.
Do you feel my thoughts? carressing you from afar.
Whispered emotions that float across the mists of time.
Riding upon the winds of all eternity.
Emotions uttered in silence seeping into your being.
Floating across time overcoming the years.
Seeking to find a deeper understanding of existance.
To feed a hunger that has been growing since birth.
A need to to discover and experience so much more.
To be washed away upon the tides of life.
To taste, touch and feel all this life has to offer.
To fan the flames of life with true passion.
So that I may finally fly without the fear of falling...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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My mirror, My walkway
On summer evenings I go walking through the streets
Over my London Bridge, across the mississippi river
The place where I am to stay
When my beach is far away
Some nights I just strut across
With lingering stress on my mind
Other dawns I stop to watch the sunrise
Some evenings, I go to the right spot
And I look down into a large mirror
I catch the sun bidding me farewll
As I look into my mirror
As I see the sky
I catch my reflection in the sun's eyes
Sometimes, when I'm caught inbetween
I hear some commoners comment, then insult my bridge and mirror
If it's six feet long and falling, who cares?
If it's the city sewage dump, who cares?
On summer evenings and autumn dawns
I walk over my London Bridge
Across my mississippi river
I stop to look into my mirror
And I catch a glimpse of a life
A life that's nowhere to be found
Except within the depths of my heart
poem by DJD Quick/dd
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Constant strife
My feelings are strange
To my own heart.
I ponder and ponder
To find I’ll never
Know the reason why.
The sky looks the same
So does my habitat.
But deep inside I find
Something is changed.
And the change, it is
The strangest and the greatest
I ever experienced.
I am caught up
In a fight, the very fight
Between hope and despair.
For God, I plead
There be an end to it.
‘Cause I can’t take it
Even a moment more.
I begged despair
And did plead to hope
To stop this war.
Yet they play with my life
As if it were a mere plaything.
And none of them ready
To step down for me.
poem by Emily Angel
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Back To The River Of Time...
for what is poetry? did i tell you that it is
merely defecation and all i excrete are
trash, garbage, e coli?
you keep on saying
i disagree, i completely disagree
i am recollecting your pieces and put them
in an album and i will make
a publication, ...jesus!
socrates did not write a word.
Jesus neither.
(i am not what they were.
i am just a sigh, a sort of
a morning exercise, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale
thing)
and stephen king who says he does not write
but all these are still here...
silly life, silly life, looking for a wall
and a spray net, spray, spray, write on the
wall, draw on the wall,
keep things intact, mementos, refreshing meal
of the river of time.
i do not know. I keep on telling.
chanting. I got no book of my own.
I have nothing to own.
Let no word come back to me
and tell me
' i am your creation
and you are my papa'
for at the end i shall deny all of them
for i do not belong here neither to somebody
nor some reason.
pilgrim am i. in this river of time.
leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chicago II
I feel the tug of life
on my apron strings
the ebb and flow
of the big city.
I feel the wilderness
letting go.
I feel awakening
a ferocity of my own.
I feel the pull of the world
on my bootstraps.
the sites I've yet to see.
I feel my skin
settling in to the skin
of the big city.
I feel my veins pumping with the life
of this new city.
I feel my tissues revitalized,
I feel the virtigo of life
swarming around me.
I feel the call
of the city
even now.
And I must go, to this new place,
and feel life, at a new pace.
11-4-03
poem by Valerie Jupe
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