The Need To Be Faraway
it is only when
i am far away
beyond the reach of
this civilization
that for a
little while
i quit
writing because it is this
distance
that keeps me
sane
it is the nearness
of all these
little things around me
that keeps
my hands moving
cultivating a garden of
words
to hide
the weeds
to please what has
been
creating havoc
in that warring
hole of
my empty being
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Hands Of Whom We Love
what i have been writing is simply
the product of
a big distraction
it is like the blind
writing about light
i hear it and i know it
but i cannot clearly see it
and hence
i have never fully understood it
if i understood it
i shall not bother writing about it
this doubt shall make me live to write for more
i have it in my tongue but it slips the moment i want to utter it
behind me are scenes of my rumored true being
i set it aside for a while to describe it in words
but words are too shallow
i cannot bury my feet on them
and so the same things happen
night after night
sleepless after sleepless hands
groping for a dark and elusive fish in space
i submerge into unfathomable madness
do not get me wrong i am sane as the brightest star tonight
but just like it
there is no intimacy
for clarity
there is only beauty at a distance
like the way we wish to hold the hands of whom we love
we long that much but
we do not die.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No ideas but in things
the snake is always a snake
and the scorpion cannot promise the frog
that in the middle of the storm
at its back, it will not bite
they will die together, but that is not enough
fear for being what they
to each they are,
the weeds are weeds and writing
is writing as always,
words that are words, come and speak, and mouths
will always be mouths,
sleepless are we at times on this
endeavor to understand
what lies beyond this
crap, metaphors of stones not reconciling
with roses
tattoos of the arms of a jilted lover
i am composed.
i compose to thing to things
not words, not to think to think
but things
as they are
as they were
forever.
still trying
what this saxifrage is all about
it splits.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winterval for M 'lady Ernestine.
The whirling swirling flakes of snow.
Fall silently but ceaselessly.
Creating havoc here below.
Mother Nature intends to show
The human race that they can see
The whirling swirling flakes of snow.
Wherever they may choose to go.
She demonstrates this ruthlessly
Creating havoc here below.
What traffic moves is crawling slow.
As drivers find it hard to see.
The whirling swirling flakes of snow
Reflect their headlights pallid glow.
Reducing visibility
Creating havoc here below.
Assisted by the winds that blow
at intervals quite randomly.
The whirling swirling flakes of snow
creating havoc here below.
Tuesday,30 November 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
See The Sea
Please Listen, Sea
The sea won't quit rolling.
With foam splashing, not intending to harm,
But getting in my eyes and making them violently water.
So I yell, "Quit it! Quit moving! "
The green sea won't answer me.
I wade till I'm a meter deep.
And I can see, as well as feel,
The water's weeds consuming my pale toes.
I feel helpless, but capable of moving: semi-moored in mud.
I take a solitary step in the direction of land,
While sea foam, sea weed, and waves
All crash and lackadaisically smash around.
They won't quit.
I leave the water, and the sea never listened.
poem by William Ster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Vanish
The elements in my thoughts are emptiness in
my hands, the uncertainty of your reach, i cannot
think of, but only hope that the day is not yet gone
entirely from my extending shelf. Where the literature
of infinite prose are the taste of one self, to become
myself as one into your spoken words. The writing
all becomes a shadow of many regrets. My hands
can only feel the texture of the paperback, but not
the words written, they can only register in my
conscious to stay and appear when i need them. I
cannot grab your voice nor your thoughts, if only
i could reach the sky and write my prose in a cloud
you shall read my contemplation from a distance
where ever you are. Tell me where it is your standing,
unless you want me lost. For eons I have longed the
moment to come. Tell me where to find you unless
you want me to fall. The prose only say you wait
desperately for hope.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Poems Came Back To Me / As Rhythms Without Sounds
My poems came back to me
as rhythms without sounds
Imitations of anothers music
Falling down and down
Like winter snow
To whitening ground-
My poems came back to me
As distant whispers of other destinies
Flights from deeper spaces
Mankind has not yet surmised
They were somewhere in the distance of distance
Beyond all distance
In the mystical language
Only Wisdom heard
Though it had no words of its own-
Only ‘now’ and ‘more’ and ‘dreams of another century’
And I, I with all these confusing words
Wondering if my friend would ever be sane again
And why God does it this way
While I in my writing play and play again
Bringing my own rhythms back
And making poetry my own small happy game
Which I write and I write
Without memory.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Can Stir Up Much Havoc
There are things I don't know.
Will you hold me to demands...
I make you understand,
That which I don't know.
There are things you don't know.
And I have no expectations grand...
You will suddenly take command,
To show you do know.
You've come to complicate my life.
And I don't like it.
One bit.
You can stir up much havoc.
Like a habit.
To fit..
Underneath any sentiment.
There are things I don't know.
Will you hold me to demands...
I make you understand,
That which I don't know.
And I don't know,
What you think I should know.
You've come to complicate my life.
And I don't like it.
One bit.
You can stir up much havoc.
Like a habit.
To fit..
Underneath any sentiment,
In me!
You can stir up much havoc.
Like a habit.
To fit..
Underneath any sentiment,
In me!
You've come to complicate my life.
And I don't like it.
One bit.
And this is it.
I think we should admit.
Quit and leave.
You can stir up much havoc.
Like a habit.
I think we should admit.
Quit it and leave.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Power Of Words
Written words are powerful
Able to influence and elicit change
More powerful yet are spoken words
Birthed in the mind, delivered through
Tongue, diaphragm and lungs
Working in concert to deliver voice
Intelligent vibrations creating reality
Somewhere an angry someone screams
“I hate you”
Words moving through space unhindered
Past countless stars in countless galaxies
Wreaking endless havoc on God’s Creation
Thinking with one's heart before speaking
Glorifies the positive power of words
Destruction ceases, balance restored
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nothing Left To Complain About
I am fearing the nearness of you.
Something within me wishes to submit.
Something that you do,
Allows with me to feel a comfort...
And a peacefulness.
I am fearing the nearness of you.
Too long have I been,
Denying to friends...
A compassion with love,
Would complete me once again.
But...
I find that I am fearing,
A nearness of you.
And it is the ease of a chemistry,
I feel with you I never knew before.
And...
I am fearing this nearness of you.
A closeness totally unexpected.
And one that strips me of my defenses,
Too.
I am fearing the nearness of you.
And so afraid you know this.
By the things you say and do...
With a patience that confuses.
And you are getting close,
To breaking down 'this' wall...
To have me love you most!
I am fearing the nearness of you.
You know just what you are doing!
And...
I've never been like that.
Wanting with desire to be the one pursued.
And here we are you and I.
With me fearing the nearness of you,
So close by my side.
And yet feel upset...
That I have nothing left to complain about.
'There is nothing left for you to complain about.'
How did you know I was thinking that?
'You seem to be upset.
With me you will have no regrets.
Just let whatever happens,
Be!
A life lived will uncover the facts.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shrp & Sne
I am away from home
It is nightime in this big city
And i am inside this room
Writing
Absurd travelling
Flying that far only to write about same
Things over and over again
Like a boat moving in circles
Yet
I am not tired
Sleeplessly
Ignited by joy that i am alone &
Still managed
To be
Sharp and
Sane
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Keep Your Distance
Keep your distance.
Be far from me.
Be where you know
that I can't see.
For any closer
might we not be
frightened to the core
of finality?
Keep your distance.
Be not here.
For the nearness of you
brings on fear
that if you leave
there will be another year
that you keep your distance
and disappear.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Nearness Of You
Why do I just wither and forget all resistance
When you and your magic pass by
My hearts in a dither dear
When youre at a distance
But when you are near, oh my...
Its not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me,
Oh no
Its just the nearness of you
It isnt your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation,
Oh no
Its just the nearness of you
When youre in my arms
And I feel you so close to me
All my wildest dreams
Came true
I need no soft lights to enchant me
If youll only grant me
The right
To hold you ever so tight
And to feel in the night
The nearness of you.
song performed by by Norah Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Writing Is Never A Race
writing is never a race
no one minds who wins and loses
a true writer does not mind if there are laurels on his mind.
one writes because there is something inside you that blooms
and wilts and dies and grows
some seeds without names yet
some leaves serrated and veins protruding like pathways
to your sorrows and pains and joys and bliss
comets carrying their own tails, stars exploding in their own energies,
suns keeping themselves at the centers of their universes,
snakes molting on their seasons, cocoons turning into butterflies.
writing is a round ring without an end
no one quits, no one can, and if you say you quit,
you only quit for a day, for tomorrow when you wake up
your hands start to miss the keys again
your tongue filled with words, your heart filled with emotions
and there is no one in your house who can listen.
writing is such a bad neighbor. It is aloof and never thinks what others
think of him. It is self-sustaining and survives and thrives on its own.
Like the light of the sun, it never fails to shine. I mean, this inspiration to write.
It does not quit. It does not quench itself with all the waters of this world.
It is this insatiability that takes us all here.
It is this human nature with its incomplete divinity that keeps us writing.
it is this boat that sails towards infinity that keeps me always waiting.
I write because I am.
Quit and you lose the essence of your being.
I am telling you, when you quit, you accept the judgment of death.
The penalty is banishment.
I heard. Total annihilation.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hole Hearted
Lifes ambition occupies my time
Priorities confuse the mind
Happiness one step behind
This inner peace Ive yet to find
Rivers flow into the sea
Yet even the sea is not so full of me
If Im not blind why cant I see
That a circle cant fit
Where a square should be
Theres a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Cant be filled with the things I do
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
This heart of stone is where I hide
These feet of clay kept warm inside
Day by day less satisfied
Not fade away before I die
Rivers flow into the sea
Yet even the sea is not so full of me
If Im not blind why cant I see
That a circle cant fit
Where a square should be
Theres a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Cant be filled with the things I do
Theres a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Cant be filled with the things I do
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Faraway From You
i have traversed so much distance,
got that this sense of being far away
where no intimacy can reach me as i
avoided that which is so near that which i cannot touch
because nearness is blindness
and when i become so blind how can i see the beauty of color
the coolness of the wind in you
the blueness of your affection
it is this distance that makes me see the rainbow
which i carried in my heart
it has the scent of longing
the you
so far away from me and yet still becomes my own shadow
when i sleep and dream
you are still beside me, and then we are one again
in wanting to forget
i shall fool love again and make it believe that
there is you
there is none
really there is none
what is there is this pain
my own shadow in your shadow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
More Words
Sometimes words reach out
to help heal wounds.
Sometimes words reach out
just to claw at a feeble soul.
Sometimes words reach out
to seek help.
Sometimes words reach out
to bring life to idleness.
Sometimes words reach out
to expose a lie.
Sometimes words reach out
to undress from its truth.
Sometimes words reach out
for it needs to be spoken.
poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In' Sane
Shouldn't there be a joy and satisfaction
One gets
For being declared 'in' sane?
After all,
Those that are 'out' of it,
Aren't 'in' it at all!
And those who choose just to be 'sane'...
Should they be suspect?
Things aren't as crazy as they are
Because they've spent time in their minds!
Now...
I can accept those labelled
To be 'out-of-their-minds'!
It makes it more official.
And at least they can be held accountable.
The ones still undeclared are the most baffling!
They disguise themselves,
With titles deemed 'professional'.
And they are the ones responsible...
For all of the 'professional' havoc,
That we have been experiencing for decades!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Is A Secret Garden In My Heart
where i grow
some weeds
and flowers
with colors
and scents
not of your liking
i hide them
there
only for me
to see
and smell
and touch
you do not
know
i am more real
in this garden
my home
away from
you
where i can
be a weed
a grass
and not the
flower
that you always
love
in this garden
where
i am alone
where
i can be myself
away from
the clutches
of your choking
gaze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!