The Quivers Of The Heart....
THESE ARE our quivers, we have arrived at a dead end, and we face walls,
we look for the outline of a door and then a window
there is no sketch of a rectangle
or square
or a hole
we are praying for a leak of light to this dark room
existence
they say the sun does not shine anymore
the flowers are shy
and kept themselves locked in the tightness of their buds
these are the quivers of our imagined endings
our hands are shaking
the world is suffering to an earthquake of
values shattered
we like to speak only when we are far away from each other
our display of affection is well demonstrated by our constant hiding
we have devolved into shadows
and invoking words cannot take the substitute of the flesh
i am a stranger now arriving at a new place where people do not know
me.
as i speak, they continue looking outside, waiting for the right train.
i sit on a chair behind them. I sip my coffee. I pay for what i eat and drink.
i am lost, but this is what i want. I too, look outside, waiting for the right hour to arrive.
these are our quivers. We have no exact hold. Our hands are blistered with so much heat from inside our guts.
temper stored. anger contained. sorrow concealed.
one day, i shall write the poem about an annihilation of us.
when you read it, and that is the right hour, i am already gone.
nowhere. where is it? i also do not know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
All White
this afternoon you are
all white, so neat to see,
my flesh quivers
to kiss your lips
and hold your face
lick your body undressed
tonight
without all these white
trappings on
now either you are brown
or black, but just the same
my flesh quivers
for leopards and
black birds and
dark nights moaning
for love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dotty and Willy.
Dotty screws the pen lid,
puts the pen down, folds
her hands in her lap. Willy
has finished his poem, he
is now silent, his muse has
gone. She watches as her
brother sits back in his chair,
pushes his fingers through his
dark hair and sighs. That makes
her almost cry, that poet muse
going like that, him sitting there,
face empty, sighs leaving him
instead of words. Tonight she
will enter it all in her journal,
after cocoa and a biscuit and
Willy's kiss and him gone off
to bed, humming to himself.
She will sit by lamplight, take
out her pen, and write on the
clean page, how he wrote,
what he wrote, the words,
the muse, the leaving of him.
She will leave out the kiss,
the embrace, the seeing each
other face to face. Willy hates
writing things down, he just likes
to sit when the words come and
he can speak them and let Dotty
write the words in the air floating
there. He gets up from his chair,
paces the room, his hands behind
his back, his words gone, his mood
dark, becoming black. Dotty looks
at her hands, entwines her fingers,
makes a church, makes a steeple,
looks inside, sees ink stained people.
poem by Terry Collett
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Half The World
Only one shadow on the wall
Just one candle burning bright
I hold your picture to my heart
Im alone inside the night
The sun comes up in china ... the lights go on in rome
Half the world is waiting for someone they can hold
Half the world is praying theyll never be alone
Everytime you leave me a part of me goes too
And half your world is waiting here for you
I reach across an empty bed
I hear your whisper in my ear
But like the sun without the moon
Its half a dream without you here
The train that takes you from me
Brings somebody home
Half the world is waiting for someone they can hold
Half the world is praying theyll never be alone
Everytime you leave me a part of me goes too
And half your world is waiting here for you
Baby the earth stands still
When Im lying next to you
No matter where you go
Our whole worlds inside this room
The sun comes up in china
The lights go on in rome ... oh
Half the world is waiting for someone they can hold
Half the world is praying theyll never be alone
And everytime you leave me my heart breaks in two
And half the world is waiting here for you
Im waiting here for you ...
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Valley
The night drew on a midnight chill,
Everything went on over the hill,
Everyone asleep in their bed,
Everyone knew,
But not a word be said.
They were asleep dreaming of peace,
Everyone remembers the day it seized,
That awful, awful day,
No one has anything to say.
What all happened was a blur,
Strangest thing to occur,
A world's thrill of devastation.
Everyone tried,
But since He took control,
Everyone died,
So did every animal.
We are the only livers,
Every stomach quivers,
Of the mentioning of that name.
Oh, that name, oh that name,
Even the name He.
Every nerve quivers inside me,
Of the strength of His power.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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40 Past Midnight
Well Im waiting standing on the corner
And its coming 40 past the hour
In the midnight lonely freezing hour
With my insides churning in the gutter
And Im waiting 40 past midnight
Catching rain in the soda light
Wont you come & call me to your window
Please dont leave me waiting on the corner
We could have the best time if you lighten up your life
With my pockets holey in the inside
With my bus ride rolling in the gutter
But if you would only light your lamp ligh
Then I would be here than any other
Well Im waiting 40 past midnight
Catching cold in the pouring rain
Wont you come & take me to your door
So I can take myself home again
When Im waiting standing on the corner
And the soda light begins to flicker
And its getting 40 past the hour
And I think I wont see what I figure
Well Im waiting freezing on the inside
Staring up at your window pane
If you wont come see me this evening
I can see myself here again
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fan
this is a fan
in the manipulation of my hands
her hands hold another fan
making the signals of
our tryst
this is another fan of hers
for my manipulation
this will give the signals too
what time
where and when
and then we fan ourselves together
much to the dismay of
those who still think that this world
spins
because of love alone
no
there are other reasons which lust knows
apart from the reasons
of the propriety of an intimacy
there is this emptiness that must be filled
at least temporarily with the desires of the body
the curiosity of he mind
the button-less reality
of holes and bones and quivers
of the flesh
i am into this and you call me
quits.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Transcription of Organ Music
The flower in the glass peanut bottle formerly in the
kitchen crooked to take a place in the light,
the closet door opened, because I used it before, it
kindly stayed open waiting for me, its owner.
I began to feel my misery in pallet on floor, listening
to music, my misery, that's why I want to sing.
The room closed down on me, I expected the presence
of the Creator, I saw my gray painted walls and
ceiling, they contained my room, they contained
me
as the sky contained my garden,
I opened my door
The rambler vine climbed up the cottage post,
the leaves in the night still where the day had placed
them, the animal heads of the flowers where they had
arisen
to think at the sun
Can I bring back the words? Will thought of
transcription haze my mental open eye?
The kindly search for growth, the gracious de-
sire to exist of the flowers, my near ecstasy at existing
among them
The privilege to witness my existence-you too
must seek the sun...
My books piled up before me for my use
waiting in space where I placed them, they
haven't disappeared, time's left its remnants and qual-
ities for me to use--my words piled up, my texts, my
manuscripts, my loves.
I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in
the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.
Saw the red blossoms in the night light, sun's
gone, they had all grown, in a moment, and were wait-
ing stopped in time for the day sun to come and give
them...
Flowers which as in a dream at sunset I watered
faithfully not knowing how much I loved them.
I am so lonely in my glory--except they too out
there--I looked up--those red bush blossoms beckon-
ing and peering in the window waiting in the blind love,
their leaves too have hope and are upturned top flat
to the sky to receive--all creation open to receive--the
flat earth itself.
The music descends, as does the tall bending
stalk of the heavy blssom, because it has to, to stay
alive, to continue to the last drop of joy.
The world knows the love that's in its breast as
in the flower, the suffering lonely world.
The Father is merciful.
The light socket is crudely attached to the ceil-
ing, after the house was built, to receive a plug which
sticks in it alright, and serves my phonograph now...
The closet door is open for me, where I left it,
since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.
The kitchen has no door, the hole there will
admit me should I wish to enter the kitchen.
I remember when I first got laid, H.P. gra-
ciously took my cherry, I sat on the docks of Prov-
incetown, age 23, joyful, elevated in hope with the
Father, the door to the womb wasopen to admit me
if I wished to enter.
There are unused electricity plugs all over my
house if I ever needed them.
The kitchen window is open, to admit air...
The telephone--sad to relate--sits on the
floor--I haven't had the money to get it connected--
I want people to bow when they see me and say
he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of
the Creator
And the Creator gave me a shot of his presence
to gratify my wish, so as not to cheat me of my yearning
for him.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Revolve
I want to crawl inside your womb,
I want to watch the rose on your cheeks bloom.
I want to be the face in the moon,
And watch the stars spin around your room.
All your carefully worded letters,
And your carefully spoken words.
I will continue to evolve,
I will continue to revolve around your sun.
cause you are the only one!...
Who understands who reaches out with both hands.
And even while your fading Im just shivering and waiting.
I will continue to evolve,
I will continue to revolve around your sun.
cause you are the only one!...
I want to drink deep from your well,
I want to be the heart for which you fell.
I want to be a shooting star,
Across the heavens to be where you are.
All your carefully worded letters,
And your carefully spoken words.
I will continue to evolve,
I will continue to revolve around your sun.
cause you are the only one!...
Who understands who reaches out with both hands.
And even while your fading Im just shivering and waiting.
I will continue to evolve,
I will continue to revolve around your sun.
cause you are the only one!...
I want to crawl inside your womb,
I want to watch the rose on your cheeks bloom.
I will continue to evolve,
I will continue to revolve around your sun.
cause you are the only one!...
Who understands who reaches out with both hands.
And even while your fading Im just shivering and waiting.
Who understands who reaches out with both hands.
And even while your fading Im just shivering and waiting.
I will continue to evolve,
I will continue to revolve around your sun.
cause you are the only one!...
Time missing out.
Youre missing out.
Im missing out.
Were missing out.
You are the only one...
Time missing out.
Youre missing out.
Im missing out.
Were missing out.
You are the only one...
song performed by by Nine Days
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Of Us Inside A Room Of Fear ....
since i am
grappling in
the dark
and you too
lost inside
this room of
less air
and we are
all alone
trying to figure
out where to
take the
exit
the possibility
is
you may soon
touch me
and i may soon
find you
we are anxious
our fears are like
worms inside
our guts
but if i may soon
hold your hand
and touch your
face and your
body
who knows
if there is a switch
there
where i can
turn on
light
so much light
that will guide us
both
to another
world
find me
who knows i
am a switch myself
who knows
if i also own
light
so much light
untapped
undiscovered
discover me
i am waiting
in fear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dangling Conversation
It's a still life water color
Of a now late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtain lace
And shadows wash the room
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives
And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time
And the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives
Yes, we speak of things that matter
With words that must be said
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lighting Rod
I am waiting on a mountaintop
For the moment that the sky will strike
My apologies are forever lost
Soon to ashes in a flash of light
Miles away from me
Hope is fading soon
Gone forever is a waste of time
My intentions like this waiting room
Only bring to me a fading light
Locked up forever inside
I look to the stars and ask why
Oh, if they could just change my dark heart to feel
All our saves aaaway
Thrown away
Oohooh
I am waiting like the single bloom
Lost forever in the storm of life
My intentions like this waiting room
Only bring to me a fading light
Locked up forever inside
I look to the stars and ask why
Oh if they could just show these wounds how to heal
Here I am
My last stand
And I know for all the rising and falling there's nothing to show
Throw me down, throw me down, throw me down...
It's been raining
And I will pay
World must come to me
I am a lightning rod
I am waiting
On a mountaintop
World above me
He will strike me
Locked up forever inside
I look to the stars and ask why
Oh if they could just change my dark heart to feel
All I am
My last stand
And I know for all the rising and falling there's nothing to show
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Train Poem For You
if i were to write a poem for you
it should not be sad,
i guess,
it must be something like a train
you are inside it
and you look out to the window
and the destination is getting near
and the train stops and then
you see the man waiting and then surprised
he sees you
he waving his hand
happy
that finally you have arrived
finally
for him.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I mean you
Yes you, I have always meant you
Because you do not just go away
This time
Of my lonely hour you come like
A persistent dream that does not
Leave me, I ask
Why?
Yes, you, I have always meant you,
I know
It is not enough to say the words
You like to hear
I understand
It makes the difference when you
Touch my hand
Kiss my lips
Slide your hands in my pants
And feel me
There
I know more shall be demanded
When I say the words
You do not want them
You need me
In this hour of loneliness
Yes, you, I mean you
My love
I will hold you still even if
I am dead
Even if my spirit does not know what
Flesh is all about
Yes, you, I have always meant you
I cannot touch you now,
Let me whisper then
The words you want to hear
This time
It is not my mouth that will speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Hands Are Stronger Now
she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.
She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.
How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?
Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.
Life is over.
Game is over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Self Portrait
I can see this world in a different way- from this world I hid for many years.
Riding a ship towards some other galaxy,
Though only inside of my mind-
The rain would pour down upon the real world, and
In the mid winter the snow would fall, but
Lost in some other place in time, I only saw the sun.
I was a rare bird whose wings would carry me
High above the treetops, the mountains and
Even above the highest clouds,
Traveling far away from everybody and everything that was real.
Rain, sleet and hail would fall, though all I could see was a rainbow,
Glistening within the sky, high above the mountains-
I placed no trust in the people who walked upon the ground below,
Although it hardly mattered- I could always converse with those people
Who lived within the kingdom inside of my mind.
I would board a ship, its full sails to the wind,
Carrying me towards the world of my dreams-
Today I see the world in a different way-Now I see reality,
I see reality- hunger, war and people who threaten, and
All I can do is place my hands over my eyes, hoping to shut this cruel world out.
The ship I rode to some other place has been lost somewhere in the sky and
A rare bird, whose wings are now broken, I now see the world under a different light.
Somebody took me and locked me away last night and I have become
A prisoner inside of my own mind-upon that ship with fallen sails
I feel as if I am on a pathway headed towards nowhere-
I place my hands over my eyes. Attempting to hide from all that is real,
Unable to find peace of mind, unable to find my rainbow.
I find myself alone inside of an empty room, with no windows and a door that is locked-
I converse with the voices that speak to me inside of my mind-as
These, nobody can take them away from me and
They are all that is left of my dreams…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The World's Twilight
The hour has come.
What hour?
The two worlds are combining
What worlds?
The worlds of light and dark
Somethings are only visible in the dark or light
The dark, heartless people can't survive in the light
the heartless are trying to kill you,
run to the light
No light may shine on it.
Any lit room is safe
protect your light
Watch your light
let it burn in the night
expect the unexpected
The hour has come
What hour?
Light and dark are combining
Its the hour of Twilight
A very scary and gloomy sight to see
escepially when someone takes it away.
Every world is cut in half
It has a light side and a dark side
Choose what side you will be on.
Always watch your light
poem by Natalie Vail
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Return Post
(v. peterson/s. hoffs)
Vicki
Writing the lines as they come to me
Scratching them out almost immediately
Dont know what its done to me
Its cold and its wet its been raining all night
And theres a letter Ive been trying to write
Something better waiting somewhere for me
One of them is sitting on the wrong coast
One awaits an answer by return post
Waiting, waiting
Try to remember how long its been
There was more to us than paper and pen
Think how easy it is to conceal
And I know when were together again
Well be strangers for an hour and then
Well have to figure out if this thing is real
One of them is sitting on the east coast
One awaits an answer by return post
Waiting, waiting
Take a drink and staring out the window
Wondering how long this can continue
Waiting, waiting
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perhaps, I Expect Too Much From You....and So Here I Am Feeling So Disgusted
words flowed
like some reunited letters lately
the concepts come out
from the mind
still like words, syllables conjoining
there are no images still
i wait, i am waiting, i keep on waiting
like a commuter of a train
perhaps i have expected too much from
you
something graphic
like sun rising from a hill
in the full majesty of its
inborn light
after i have read
everything that you have written for years
following each like
the running ticking seconds
of the hour
i feel so disgusted
stalks without flowers
ladies stuffed like mummies
mountains bald deprived of the
green and yellows
there is a world without
sky and sun and sea and dolphins
a patch of light without
a hue
i want to see those prisms
refractions
interactions of colors inside
the depths of
our souls
perhaps i have expected too much from you
and so i am disgusted
give me your world
i will scatter it with stars tonight.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Abused
Anger bashed and thrashed inside him
Anger tumbled out
Within the room all painted dim
His anger was a shout
His lifted hand was clenched so tight
Then unleashed upon his boy
Extinguished from the world was light
For anger was his toy
The room around them stood in fear
Silent, vexed and swayed
The room around them shed a tear
In the darkness of the day
The storm inside him had settled now
Quiet and still was he
Anger had gone and calmed his brow
Still he could not see
Blind to him was this little child
Hiding away from his fate
Scarce to him was a simple smile
In his hardened state
Around the back, beneath the house
Along the cob-webbed ground
Sitting quiet as a mouse
The little boy was found
His big brown eyes were shut so tight
To shield away the truth
There was suffering pain in his awful plight
And suffering left him bruised
His face was coloured, harmed and scared
Barely old enough to speak
To show himself he didn't dare
Instead, he cried himself to sleep
poem by Eloise Crowther
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She Brought Them All Kindly To Her Grave
of course i know what coldness is
apart from something that is cool
when mother died her hands were extremely cold
for my hold
i let them go
there was no sadness
there was that happiness of letting her rest
and giving myself a little space
for tomorrow
when coldness comes again in an empty room
with open windows
i know not what panic shall be
my hands are extremely cold these days
when i kiss them
my lips become frozen
they break like glasses
i cannot speak
there is no way that my tongue shall give in to
words
it cannot face coldness in the mirror
of my face
since you ask and you demand an explanation i open my hands
and i let your hands touch them
i cannot speak i am afraid i will be cruel
you must hold these extreme coldness for a long time
so you can all let them go
like white birds against a dark sky
so you can also experience what happiness
i had when i let go off
mama's fears
when mama closed her eyes
because what was important she knew
need not be said anymore
she brought them all kindly to her grave
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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