The Pleasure Upon A Window
upon a window sill
the body lays
the hands strokes
every pleasure that the
skin gives
ecstasy is hard upon
its veins
bursting finally
on clouds
softness follows
sleep
on a weary heart
high
upon a dream
of a wet
forest grass
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Making Love To Earth And Sky
the firm body
of forest night lays upon
a dream of wet leaves
softly sleep lays its weary hands
upon a labyrinth of
blue veins
blood pushing each corpuscular
mate
into the pinkish blushes
of an excited morning
the hands play their piano songs
dreams burning real
heat dissipating upon
the thighs
bursting as white cumulonimbi clouds
above the shadowy hills
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dream On
(being, in love)
Been travelling this road for so long
My eyes are tired but I carry on
The sun lays down its golden threads
I need a place to rest my head
Although I am far from home now
My souls with you
Its hard to be out here on my own
So far away, so far from home
I need to touch and feel your skin
To live this dream in sleep again
Although I am far from home now
My souls with you
So dream on, dream on
Freedom comes with timeless sleep
Dream on, dream on
In the arms of night
Your silent shadow gently speaks
Dream on, dream on
This hotel rooms a lonely place
Its a one night cell I must escape
So I drink away my loneliness
So I can sleep and dream again
Although I am far from home now
My souls with you
And as I fall into
The darkness of the night
You come to rescue me to
Shield me in your light
I feel your touch
The softness of your skin
You hold me close before
The day breaks in
This dreams so true
My heart it beats, it beats
It beats for you, for you
Although I am far from home now
My souls with you
So dream on, dream on
Freedom comes with timeless sleep
Dream on, dream on
In the arms of night
Your silent shadow gently speaks
So dream on, dream on
Dream on, dream on
So dream on, dream on
Dream on
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Lights
The sun rises
sparkle fingers
aop the horizon;
my feelings are alive.
I tingle at the breeze of a single
butterfly wing
that is your touch;
dust in light shafts
come through
the window sill
stir
and float
above us,
I move to taste you;
perfumed still
from the surging night
and you loom above me
reaching
across our illumination;
swirling
to me;
my nipples swelling
remembering
night time lustings;
night time now is dust light beams
dancing in moon streams
gleaming.;
smooth
skin now
igniting again
against
smooth
skin;
I hear you moan,
reclaim my center
with your weight
and I compress
caress your chest;
last nights
love
in an instant
returns with us to bed,
and we imitate
the sun rise
slow soothing
love-making
in the steady ray sun beams
while shadow flowers
in the window box
follow our movements
on the wall;
love strokes-
rhythmic signs
surrendering breath
and astonishment
as body love
takes hold.
Once again
we fall among the lost.
The taste of you
on my tongue
again
the smell of you
rush to my lungs
again
we spiral away;
we're gone;
timeless etched
bathed
in that bursting sun
which announces once again
morning.
Put your hand here I say
and you do
I sign
a soft sign
and you
your deep baritone
moans again;
sudden shuddering
and the window sill
tells me its sunset
8 hours
more we've lingered,
while a new sun
salutes us
on the bed
next day;
lying
finger tip to finger tip
as new shards
of light
proceed and recede
to the window sill
each saying
good night
see you in the morn;
each a long-stemmed
lit rose;
fading
slowly
leaving us
side by side
repleated
and completed.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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How To Deal With A Very Beautiful Disciple
she comes like a princess from the
a castle high up there on those blue clouds
descending from the sun
down to the mountains
and the rivers
and to this
pond
i am the grass, and she wants to lie down with me
so i can teach her about what, i ask, about poetry she says,
no there is no poetry with me for
i am the grass, and you signal the wind so you may leave at once
and be back to the arms of the heavens
but i think a while and change my mind for i am the grass
and i am a teacher of all mankind, those who want to die and be
covered with my hands, and those who want to stay and be
with my greeness, my softness and i in humility whispers to her
my princess, stay with me for a while, lie with me, and sleep with me
under the moon, the darkness of the night shall be our blanket,
my thick leaves of grass, your pillow,
i am the grass, i may not teach you what poetry is,
what i have is to spread
love and togetherness, and intimacy that i have with the soil
my secrets with the worms, my eternity
with what death has concealed from the eyes of your world.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ecstasy
They call you ecstasy
Nothing ever sticks to you
Not velcro, not scotch tape
Not my arms dipped in glue
Not if I wrap myself in nylon
A piece of duct tape down my back
Love pierced the arrow with the twelve
And I cant get you back
Ah, ecstasy
Ecstasy
Ah, ecstasy
Across the streets an old ford, they took off its wheels
The engine is gone
In its seat sits a box
With a note that says, goodbye charlie, thanks a lot
I see a child through a window with a bib
And I think of us and what we almost did
The hudson rocketing with light
The ships pass the statue of liberty at night
They call it ecstasy, ah
Ecstasy
Ecstasy, ah
Ecstasy
Some men call me st. ivory
Some call me st. maurice
Im smooth as alabaster
With white veins runnin through my cheeks
A big stud through my eyebrow
A scar on my arm that says, domain
I put it over the tattoo
That contained your name
They called you ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
They call you ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
The moon passing through a cloud
A body facing up is floating towards a crowd
And I think of a time and what I couldnt do
I couldnt hold you close, I couldnt, I couldnt become you
They call you ecstasy, I cant hold you down
I cant hold you up
I feel like that car that I saw today, no radio
No engine, no hood
Im going to the cafe, I hope theyve got music
And I hope that they can play
But if we have to part
Ill have a new scar right over my heart
Ill call it ecstasy
Oh, ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
Ecstasy, ecstasy
Ecstasy
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are Not A Dream
last night you are the woman undressing before me
beside the brook with bamboo trees swaying on its side
i am told that you are just a dream
the fruit of my weary mind
i have seen the waterfalls flowing from your hair
i have touched the full moon of your breasts
i laid my body on the cool green grass of your body
your hands are soft and perfumed like the orange flowers
cascading on my face
i feel the rain dripping on my cheeks
when you left me
you are not just a dream my love
you are real from the very beginning of my sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Allegory Of Pleasure...
there is more
to find in this mountain
the snails have not reached here
the birds are not telling the complete view
a vista of clouds
and little white houses beside a river
there is more on top of the trees
you have seen a lot
but there is nothing that can be touched
for the pleasure of the hands
so what is the use?
the feet are ready
and tomorrow is the final leaving
there is no regret
somehow he will try getting into the body of the cow
it will be nice there
there is more pleasure with the grass
and there is no moral
code to adopt
mud is still cooler for the body
dress is but a prison without a key
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Tired Worker
O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon
Is waning into evening, whisper soft!
Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon
From out its misty veil will swing aloft!
Be patient, weary body, soon the night
Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet,
And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite
To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.
The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;
Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast.
But what steals out the gray clouds like red wine?
O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest
Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!
No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.
poem by Claude McKay
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Dancing Dream
If you are weary-
If you are weak-
Sleep, sleep, sleep, my darling child, sleep.
If you are lonesome-
If you are sad-
Dream, dream, dream, my darling child, dream.
Dream of waters, unending like a mother's love.
Dream of a sky, colored like a painter's canvas.
Dream of green grass, reaching up to touch you.
Dream of a great oak, standing tall above you.
Dream of a waterfall, its call echoing all around.
Dream of a breeze, whispering in your ear.
Dream of a star, shining brighter than any other.
Dream of a friend, sticking closer than any brother.
Dream of a love, burning brighter than a sun.
Dream of a trust, holding harder than a rock.
Dream a dancing dream, a dancing dream, a dancing dream.
Dream a dancing dream, my darling child.
Sleep and dream.
A dancing dream.
poem by Stephen Carey
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But They Can Never Be Mine
the face
the breasts and nipples
the abdomen
the smoothness of the skin
down to the last details
of the body
the middle and the bottom
the legs
and veins and toes and nails
all these dance before me
to my pleasure
i shut my mouth
i hold my hands and tell myself
oh how beautiful! (but)
they are not mine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Those Pains
we finally situate
beyond the threshold of pain
we sit on a chair
look over the window
extend our view to the sea
till the horizon
we familiarize with what
pains too do
with the shores and the
forest
the trees and the
grass
then we look again inward
like the entrails of
the chicken
we feel nothing anymore
those pains have
become a part of our skin
they don't do any harm
anymore
we don't even notice
whether they are still here
or they are gone
for good forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gacela of the Dark Death
I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wing;
that I am the intense shadows of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
poem by Federico García Lorca
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Dawning
it is dawning
gray wraps the trees and grass in black
as i walk along this boulevard
the light comes
thru the shutters of the clouds
this morning
rays like hands touch me
there is warmth
spreading on my face
there is fire
in my heart
i look at the stretch of
of acacia trees where the street lights
slowly close one by one
and at this moment
the years spread themselves
like some green grass
where i rest my weary soul
in my mind
i always remember you
on my side i can stll feel the warmth
of your skin
it simply dawned in me
the fire of yesterday
and the coldness was gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Is Just A Hobby
this is just a hobby
pure fun, nothing serious, just a game
i play
after a hard day's work, sweating my body,
purging all my intellectual juices out
to save a life, to free those who are detained
without just cause,
this is just a variation of the monotony,
it surges, but i keep it stable, still like a wind
that i invite inside my room and then i close the window
to hear a buzzing sound of
consistency,
this is nothing but a sigh, a snore, after a heavy meal,
in bed, silenced, finally, plunging into a world of dreams.
this is but a dream, and everything is allowed here.
no rules, all colors, all strokes,
this is but a sideline, no money involved, nothing bread-like
or buttered,
this is but the time in between the serious muddle.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cope
She needed to sleep, sleep for a little,
to see him, feel him, hear him say.
Come lovely, come and rest your
head on my pillow, She had to rest,
rest of her own self, of her many
miseries that shattered her dreams.
But how to rest? or dream a sweet dream.
To wake up to an empty bed, with nothing
but his scent, his last touch, his last sleep,
his last words, and his last kisses. She adorned
her bed with broken sadness, dropping
her tears, and picking up more for the next day.
Her veins draining a river of pain. Her heart all
weary with multiple wounds. Her will refrained
from hope, her feelings with fears,
to love another man, and die all over again.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Caveman Head
Feel my body breathing in
Touch the softness of my skin...
I am very beautiful
I can be so beautiful...
I am very beautiful
I could be successful...
My hands are moving
My feet are tied
Watch the way my hair falls down
See the way my hair falls down
I am very beautiful
I can be so beautiful
Touch the softness of my skin
Feel my body breathing in
My hands are moving
My feet are tied
My eyes are closing
My mouth is wide
I will let you touch me
If you want to touch me
song performed by by Eurythmics
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobody Home
Don't run too fast
Like a shot from a gun
Don't jump too high
And knock out the sun
Don't stray too far
Out on your own
When you finally come knocking
When you finally come knocking
There'll be nobody home
Nobody home
Don't pull too hard
Like a kite in the wind
You'll break the string
When I reel you in
Don't take off flying
All on your own
When you finally come knocking
When you finally come knocking
There'll be nobody home
Nobody home
You say you're feeling locked inside
Stuck inside to stay
You wanna fly away
There's nothing I can do
To help you make your play
Make your getaway
Don't dream too wild
And shoot for the moon
Don't ride your heart
Like a balloon
Don't blow away
To places unknown
Cause when you finally coming knocking
When you finally come knocking
There'll be nobody home
Nobody home
Don't run too fast
Like a shot from a gun
Don't jump too high
And knock out the sun
Don't stray too far
Out on your own
Cause when you finally come knocking
When you finally come knocking
there'll be nobody home
Nobody home
When you finally come knocking
When you finally come knocking
There'll be nobody home
Nobody home
When you finally come knocking
When you finally come knocking
There'll be nobody home
Nobody home
song performed by by Heart from Heart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teasing......
the snail loves the
veins of the hands
they are the maps
to its licking pleasures
it feels blood
palpitating to its mouth
sacrifice beauteous
not consumed just felt
the hard house
is always the wall
that keeps it from the
hazards of the winds
from the minding of the
the leaves
from the mocking of the
moon
from the paleness of death
there is always the lingering
pleasure of non-consummation
fluid kept at the middle part
of the pelvis at the center
of the ecstasy of gravity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Completion...
the body
is stroked upon
by
tender hands
this body
stands before it
watching
caressing those
hands
skin lands on
skin
the world knows
its own
kind of foreplay
clouds on the side
of the hills
sunset kneeling
upon the foot
of the mountain
lightning flashes
sounds of thunder
the snake spits
its venom
on the tender flesh
of the
innocent chick...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Last Night I Was Talking To Myself
last night i was talking to myself
asking and making answers
like the way i make a knot and
then untie them from a cemented
post at the port
so that the wooden boat
may finally be let loose
and be free to sail
to its chosen destination
the sea was so wide
like all seas that you have seen
but the night was so dark
like no other
last night i was formulating solutions
to a very common problem
like how to cure a cold
with just a glass of water
like how to appease the coldness
of a room with nothing but
a piece of a woolen blanket
and curling feet and
hiding hands in my pocket
so i can have the exact warmth
so i may finally have my much
needed sleep and
dream about the peace
between the clouds
and the stars
last night i could not sleep
and you are beside me
last night i opened the window
of our room while you
were there snoring
last night i was silently
talking about the absence of
stars the loss of the moon
and then the rain fell
heavily on the roof of this house
and then i closed the windows
and then i listened to every sound
and then i noticed a faint light coming
from a leak of these walls
i know
another morning has finally
come
it is broken they say.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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