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The Proverbial Forest

if you do not have me
when you do not touch
any of my fingers
clinging to my
hands
despite your pleas
the flow of
tears
without me
no sorrow is felt
no sobbing is heard
for without me
loving you
there is also no you
to speak of

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)

i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.

hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!

hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....

whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Thank You God For Loving Me

Never seen you
Never heard from you
Yet have always
Felt the vibes….
Thank you God for loving me
But you got to hear it out
Cause I happen to love you too.

As bit by bit
Every minute,
Every hour,
I carry my corpse
Closer to the embers of death,
The touch
Of your magic wand
In some form or other
Rejuvenates me
Telling me
How much you still need me
Around here.
Thank you God for loving me
But you got to hear it out
Cause I happen to love you too.

As bit by bit
I built these tall walls
Of ego and selfishness around me,
The waves of your tears
Erodes them
Shattering them
To slight crumbles.
Telling me how much you still adore
The never growing child in me.
Thank you God for loving me
But you got to hear it out
Cause I happen to love you too.

As bit by bit
I bury my heart
Cowering, deep into the caverns of sorrow
The saplings of your love
Germinates and grows
Pulling me back to sunshine
My place.
Telling me just how precious
I, still am to you.
Thank you God for loving me
But you got to hear it out
Cause I happen to love you too.

As bit by bit
I give up and give in to the wounds
Time has inflicted on me.
You sent in your angels
To heal me with the balm of your love
Reminding me
that I still remain,
your most besotted child.
Thank you God for loving me
But you got to hear it out
Cause I happen to love you too.

Never seen you
Never heard from you
Yet have always
Felt the vibes….
Thank you God for loving me
But you got to hear it out
Cause I happen to love you too.

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Because I Am Blind With You I Can See

i ask for your fingers and you were so kind
you touch me with the gentle feel of such
tiny ten tributaries
with so much love your fingers have become a set
of loving hands
and you take me to places i have not been before
to things i have not ever touched
to feelings i have never felt

this is our house, you first tell me, feel the living room
it is warm and cozy and full of concerned conversations,
this is actually what we call a home,
and you are here

you are telling me with the definite and bold strokes
of your choice of words

and this is the window, you continue telling me
this is where you see the world outside
those are blue clouds, and i have known blue
through the ice cubes that fill the glass of orange juice
that you give me

those are red roses in the garden, and i feel the red
through the hot tea that you serve me,
and then
you take my hands to your breasts, and you tell me
this is me, and i feel the beating of your heart and you tell me
again
inside is my heart, and with all love you are telling me again

you are always here

and this
i have felt, and since then i am never blind.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Explorations: V

Many a time
You morph into
A smile on my lips

Many a time
You flow as tears
On my cheeks

Why this joy or sorrow
When my smiles or tears
Fail to touch you?

Isn't that greater sorrow
Unnoticed and lost
In the routine melee...?

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The River That Murmurs

I will ask the river, that flows serene
I will speak to the sky
I will ask the river that murmurs

Not to ask me why
I cannot speak for myself.
That time has long since passed me by.

The river can murmur and sing
Unspent by passion: my voice
Will break like a terribly taut string.

My words will be grammatically and academically
Twisted (like that leafless tree) , unfortunately!
I want the river to speak, to speak
Alone, alone with thee.

The river can, softly and without tears
Tell you my dreams and my fears
I know you will listen:
And while city lights in the water glisten

You wont see the tears that shine on my face
No, that is a serious, sentimental place
That only I know;
Flow, river, flow.

Flow, river flow.
Speak to the only love I know.
Daybreak approaches soon
You and he by the light of the moon
Will murmur whilst I -
Will wait for you to bring me his reply.

poem by Rani Turton
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Now let me die

Now let me die!
After the lovelight in your eye
Lit my soul.
In a cathedral high.

A shooting star across the sky
A raging moon,
An ocean cry.
Now that I've heard your lover's sigh
Two wingless people learned to fly.
Held hands against a blood red sky.
Consumed by the fire of your sigh.

Yes, now let me die.
I have felt you next to me,
And smelt your hair.
Kissed your breast.
Touched lips.
Knowing you are there.

Now let me die!
Once laughter did heal my tired mind.
Your touch revealed that love is kind.
As one we did ebb and flow.
We loved a million tears ago.

poem by Kevin East
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Fingers

In that photo of yours
I saw you –
Your face, your shoulders,
Your hands, and then
Your fingers…

My lips quivered
So did my hands
And I felt like touching you,
With my quivering lips
And unsure hands,
Those very beautiful
Exquisite fingers…

Reading your poems of love
And pondering over your letters…
Sometimes I imagine
You writing to me
With those very same
Slender and artistic
Adept fingers…

Very often I feel
And wonder…
If your fingers
Ever do ache
Writing so long,
So nice,
And so very endless,
Day after day…

And if they do, my Love
I feel like pampering them
With tender, loving care
A kiss here, a kiss there…
Holding them,
Caressing them,
Sucking them slow…

Your fingers in my mouth
Taking turns to go
One by one,
I feel them,
Nibble them,
Suckle them,
Make love to them,
Within the deep recesses
Of my oral crevice…

Till they feel pampered
And satiated
And I feel the same too…
Contented and happy
Making love to you
With your fingers
In my mouth…

A wonderful tryst
Of love and lust,
Warmth and arousal,
And then if you wish…
And if I'm also willing,
We can play this game
All night long…

Where you don’t win
And I don’t lose
We both win over together
And lose ourselves
To each other…

I give free rein to
Your fingers…
To touch, feel
And explore
The inner crevices
And every pore
Of my body…

The mouth has had its turn
Now, do you wish to go
Further down..?
And see how it feels
To caress my breasts,
My derriere and my
Yoni,
With those seeking,
Exploring fingers of yours…

You’ve penned a lot of poetry
And your letters intoxicate me…
How about writing
Some letters of love
And a few lines of love ballads
On the spaces and margins
Of my body…
Dipping your fingers,
And drinking into
The juice of my
Dripping Yoni…

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Best Deception

I heard about your trip.
I heard about your souvenirs.
I heard about the cool breeze, in the cool nights,
and the cool guys that you spent them with.
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I guess I should have heard of them from you.
Don't you see, don't you see,
that the charade is over?
And all the "Best Deceptions" and "Clever Cover Story" awards go to you.
So kiss me hard
'cause this will be the last time that I let you.
You will be back someday
and this awkward kiss that tells of other people's lips will be of service
to keeping you away.
I heard about your regrets.
I heard that you were feeling sorry.
I heard from someone that you wish you could set things right between us.
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I'm waiting for blood to flow to my fingers,
I'll be all right when my hands get warm.
Ignoring the phone, I'd rather say nothing.
I'd rather you'd never heard my voice.
too late to be gracious
and you do not warrant long good-byes.
You're calling too late.

song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nameless Emotion

Scared of being happy,
Too happy to be sad.
Heart just keeps leaping
crazy and wandering,
so can't be sad!
Wrapped in your
Little finger,
Dances my soul
But reigns feel tighter
Around
refusing to go with the flow.
In surrender,
Absolute surrender
Something wants to bow,
Yet another thing in the spine
Refuses to go.
This nameless emotion
Too scared to be happy
Too happy to be sad.
Touch my brow,
magic fingers,
Tears might just flow
Erasing all
That holds back,
refusing to let go
and wrapped in your
little finger
my famished soul might glow.
Pray magic fingers
just....
Touch my brow.

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Displaced

It began at birth, when she summoned
All her might against a steady rhythm
Forcing her through a dark and wet canal.
Twenty hours she held fast, until she felt
the forceps close on her head. She tried
to cry out, but her lungs and nostrils were
full of a thick, viscous fluid.

Although her eyes were closed, she felt the
Harshness of a light above, as she emerged.
Hands reached down and shoved something in
her nostrils to clear the fluid. The same hands
grasped her tiny ankles and lifted upward.
She began to retch, and felt her lungs
Empty more fluid.

A slap stung her backside forcing a scream;

She cried her first bitter tears;
Tears for the imprisonment of her spirit
Tears for the pain of physical density.
Tears of sorrow for her future death.

(To Erika)

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Tears

Tears, tears please leave my eyes.
I do not wish to sympathize
with all that seems to trouble me.
If you will leave then I'll be free.

Each time I feel my eyes are dry
guilt appears and then I cry.
Salty tears that dribble on my face
bring me to a sad, sad place.

Smiles please replace my tears.
I do not wish in my waning years
to spend my days in deep-felt sorrow.
I need to awaken to a bright tomorrow.

The tears I've shed could fill a lake.
And oh the toll that they did take.
What good they are I do not know.
They just come. They just flow.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Day I Died

You were there when I died,
As I remembered seeing your face
You looked at me, in such disbelief
Uttering oh death, why such a waste.
When you said goodbye, I was there
Your eyes were full of tears
How sad I felt, for you and not myself
Wishing your sorrow would just disappear.
I cried, but you never saw it
The tears came down my cheeks
How I wished that I, was at your side,
As without you, I am so very weak.
And I was there when you walked away
Even though you knew that I was gone
I then saw the sorrow, in your tomorrow
Only if again we both were as one.
I was there when you walked out the door
I tried to comfort you, but you never heard me speak
So sadly you walked away, till our judgment day
And then once again, your soul I will seek.
I wonder now what will become of you
And also what will become of me
Will you live in our past, pretending it still did last
Or will you set my life and our memory free.
Life and happiness it came so quickly
But death it came in the wink of an eye
You brought me joy, that's the end of my story
And happy was I, you were there the day I died.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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I See You in Your Fingers

I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Please Be True To Our Mutual Lies

please be true
to these mutual lies
as we lie
and kiss
and roll
and make such a quick love

do not make any moans
or calls
do not not kiss and tell
do not
be too possessive of my
body
my soul
my mind

these hands are strong
and so warm

you know, when these hands hold you tight
you know

these are not just yours
you know
these hands love you too like how these hands love

the rest of you, my all true loves
and them

they may not believe us
true to our lies
protective of ten fingers loving many lovely women
all worthy of my strong loving hands

my hands are made of ten fingers
there is no way that

these hands can be monogamous

you love me so true
and you would not have the folly to tell me that i have not loved

and loved you well enough

we must both be polygamous, and we must tell the world
we are true and we exist.

we lie because the truth is they are nor prepared for what they are too.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Could Have Been Unreal

there is a sorrow that i do not want to speak
it is something that i cannot give away

there is time that keeps on going and if i stay
i will just be left out and buried in this delay

there is a grief that cannot really be spoken
there is this pain that goes on and one

there are empty parks and empty cafes
there are closed doors and locked rooms

there is this self sometimes that does not open
there are fingers that remain closed upon themselves

there is a song that i can only sing inside myself
there is this poem that keeps on evading what is it that could have been said

all these are mine alone and all these keep me moving on
remembering, loving in silence, keeping the tears frozen, creating what could have been unreal.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Tears, Wipe Them Dry

The mounds you see
in them, your mum
and dad, wake them
not, your tears shall dry.
Wheels so speedy
crashed, their souls flew to sky,
cry not, your mumy and dady
am I, this weak body
and my palms,
you are sobbing? No sobs
I could have cried, tears
Ever they would flow,
Must, my foot on ground
Gone is gone, my breast
Your father suckled
Your mum I guarded
I am you, you are me
Your, tears, wipe them dry.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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To Primroses Filled With Morning Dew

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
just as the modest morn
Teem'd her refreshing dew?
Alas, you have not known that shower
That mars a flower,
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind,
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd as we,
Who think it strange to see,
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why
Ye droop and weep;
Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that Sweet-heart, to this?
--No, no, this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read,
That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Simile Of Myself

I am like the tears that i cry
Holding so many uspoken words
Longing to be heard, understood
Knowing not to speak of the things i feel
For if i do i would be labeled insane
So i stay safe inside my own world
Hoping one day someone will understand
But until then all you'll see are my tears
And all you'll hear are my cries of sorrow
Since noone dares to look deeper
Than the tears they see streaming down my face

poem by Misty Wright
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Blood on your hands sister

You said you loved him told him you cared
Promised him forever together
Instead you broke his heart into countless pieces
You drew tears of blood from the Prince of hearts
Hurt his pride with your insolent words
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

I saw the pain in his eyes
I felt the bitter tears that he cried
Kicked a man when he was down
You left him a broken man
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

From a loving giving sensitive Prince amongst men
You took your pleasure and stifled his laughter
You took your fill and threw him upon the scrapheap
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

But his precious tears are wasted
Wasted on a dry barren heart like yours
For his heart is alive and flourishing
Whilst yours is dead and lifeless
He is the victor
Whilst you the loser

You may wash your hands of him
But the stains will never fade
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands

poem by Lilac Wine
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Give Me A Poem

Touch my heart
so I can catch
the images so much alive.
Touch my ears
so I can hear
the tone and rhythm of sounds.
Touch my fingers
so I can build
the right words to write.
Touch my mind
so I can guard
the flow of my lines.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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