The Silent Hardworker
he arrives
one hour before the desired time
opens the door himself
without his aide
opens his computer
and tunes in for
some jazzy music
then to something
classical
he goes to the sofa
takes the pillow
and lays his head and
then he closes his eyes
this he does
privately inside
his office.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When The Lord Closes The Door
(kinky friedman & jeff shelby)
When i find myself alone in my house and in my head
And i blow the candles out and i take myself to bed
And i'm old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
When sleep closes my eyes and sends me searching for you
And i'm feelin' blue as the sky without your love to carry me through
And i'm weak enough to be afraid but strong enough to let it show.
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
Baby i'm a gypsy boy, i'll ride the night until
I come to you like moonlight through your raggle-taggle window sill.
When you find yourself alone in your house and in your head
And you blow the candles out and you take yourself to bed
And you're old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Lord Closes The Door (He Opens A Little Window)
(kinky friedman & jeff shelby)
When I find myself alone in my house and in my head
And I blow the candles out and I take myself to bed
And Im old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
When sleep closes my eyes and sends me searching for you
And Im feelin blue as the sky without your love to carry me through
And Im weak enough to be afraid but strong enough to let it show.
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
Baby Im a gypsy boy, Ill ride the night until
I come to you like moonlight through your raggle-taggle window sill.
When you find yourself alone in your house and in your head
And you blow the candles out and you take yourself to bed
And youre old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is Something In Us Always
there is something in us always
that closes and opens like fingers
there is something inside that watches
for love, and waits, and anticipates,
something that feels home, and
goggles for familiarity, and when it
finds it, it opens so confidently,
unmindful of any pain, expectant
of the excitement, promised and
betrayed, and mourning, and then
there is something in us that closes,
no matter what, it is still closed,
despite the death of time, it still
closes upon itself, curling, thickening
unwilling, wanting to die, but couldn't.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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THIS THING called discrimination
it is when you walk together
with someone you barely know
towards a place
where there is a door still closed
to open at 9 a.m.
and both of you wait
for the right hour
and then the right hour comes
and a strict lady opens the door
carries a folder and calls out a name
just her name
and she smiles at her
and she smiles at her too
and then she lets her in and
she looks at you
without any civility
and she closes the door and
you do not see anymore
what is going inside the room
something so private
the door tells you that
you feel the pain
and yet you are not leaving still
i am telling you
you're the craziest Asian that i have ever known
in this whole cruel white world.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Need For Redemption
the world opens a door
lets you in
makes you feel at home
and gives you love
and you give it children
it wants itself
populated and that is
what it only
wants from you and once
the progeny are
there the reality comes
in batches of
sorrows and
regrets and then the world
having taken what it
wants from you, soon,
excludes you
it closes the door
takes away air, chokes you
and then
you are gone for good
the world opens its doors
again
to populate itself with
innocent people
fooled into desire and lust
and then
finally expurgated into
the depths of
hell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Assume
assume that things always
wait for you with all stability
these inanimates
if you think clearly has
a lesson for us to tell:
the table no matter
how tired still stands
on its four legs
the chair no matter
how problematic
its life is
still manages to
hold your bottom
the bed no matter
what happens
even if it has some
problems taking
its much needed sleep
still accommodates
your tired body and
makes itself available
for you and your
little darlings
the windows no matter
what the weather is
still clings to the walls
it closes when it rains
and opens when it
gets too hot
the door opens and
closes when someone
from your family arrives
and departs to some
places
they do not ask questions
they perform their duties
and they never complain
until they are finally broken
and then you throw them
away or replace them
i suppose they are more
stable and uncomplaining.
why can't we be like them
less our capacity for feeling?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Look Up To See
The little girl bent her head
She lost her mother today
Lost her to the waters of death
Where her warm hugs cannot reach
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
Her little sister wipe away her tears.
The little girl bent her head
She has cried so many tears
Non of them were perfect
And she's tired of the screams
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
Her friends welcoming her home.
The little girl bent her head
The scars on her arm, a tell-tale sign
Her sadness she locks away
Hidden in colours on canvas
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
The ball go through the basket of happiness
The little girl bent her head
She thinks there could've been another way
That she should've never left.
The land of smiling skies
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
A hand show her the way
The little girl bent her head
In a dark corner lies her future
Hiding from her heart
Too far for her to touch it,
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
A dream walking through light
poem by Mariam de Haan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Black Bird Winging Its Way Inward
that early morning
the door opens and you
hear the rush of steps
going out of the house
the gate opens and
closes once again
and you
find yourself enclosed
in your freedom
of thought again
transforms into a black
bird
stretching its wings
to the breasts of dawn
and then
without so much hesitation
fly away again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hope In Our Hearts
Hope raises its head in times of despair
Hope raises its head when you think no ones there.
Hope is the foundation to all in life
Hope is our strength, our deepest might.
Hope is a common ground that we all share.
Hope shows our loved ones that we care.
When hope disappears from our hearts
Where do we go? Where do we start?
How can it be, that hope opens
the doors to all the mysteries.
One door closes, and another one opens.
And looking inside you will see
The beauties and the realities.
When you feel that life on you has turned its back
And the ropes tighten, without any slack.
when you feel that no one is there
With your problems you wish to share.
Then you turn to the one who knows you best
The one that helps you when you need a rest.
He is the LORD who has always been there
He is the one that always cares.
He has shown you that “ hope is the key, it is what sets you free”.
poem by Louis Rams
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When I Sleep
When I sleep
Where do I go
I go where
The Blue bird
Is red
Where
Red
Is
Blue
In the head
And the door
Opens on
A red sky
When I sleep
Where do I go
I go where
There is no where there
And the door
Have eyes
To see
Its opening
When I open
My sleep
I am there
Where I am not
And blue drops
Into a red pool
When I sleep
All my theres
Open in the head
And the door
Is blue
And new
And opens nightly
To a where
When I loose
Myself
To all my
Blues and reds
You may think
That I am dead
In my head
But I am much
Alive
When I sleep
Where do I go
I fain not to know.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your grief....
Your grief for what youve lost holds a mirror
up to where you're bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look and instead,
here's the joyful face youve been wanting to see.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expand
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.
Your grief....
Your grief for what youve lost holds a mirror
up to where you're bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look and instead,
here's the joyful face youve been wanting to see.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expand
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.
Music
Music is an art
Music is presided over by the Muses
Music combines sounds in a pleasing way
Music has common elements.
Music has pitch and melody
Music has harmony and rhythm
Music has tempo and meter
Music has sonic qualities of timbre.
Music is euphony or sweet sound
Music has harmonious qualities
Music is inspirational
Music opens the soul.
Music is energizing
Music is enriching
Music makes one happy
Music is relaxing.
Music is soothing
Music is entertainment
Music is lovable
Music is stirring.
Music moves one to tears
Music gives a spark
Music tunes a special memory
Music is a form of therapy.
Music fills with spiritual attunement
Music is a personal experience
Music takes us along the road of life
Music is the corner stone of every society.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happiness, A Visit
happiness comes
she knocks at the door
and sits on the sofa
sips tea
takes little bites
of black forest cake
opens up a short
conversation about
us
solitude wants more of her
and attempts to please her some more
with a poem
when it was about to be read
she butts in saying
she is not staying long
she still has to meet a lot of other people
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Becomes The Poem!
there comes a time...
when the artist lays down the brush,
when the carpenter lays down the hammer,
when the lover walks out the door.
when the child turns away
from childish things.
when the mother steps back,
and opens the door.
when the old man stomps out
the fire with his boots.
when the sky falls,
and the earth rises.
when the poor just will not
take it any more.
when the sacred reveals
itself in a back alley.
when the truth steps up
and cuts the throat of the lie.
when the wind returns
from whence it came.
when the poet lays down his pen,
and becomes the poem!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Okaerinasai
this is the stranger
dusty face and muddy
feet
caulked
he still holds the key
to the old room
his room
opens it
he was away for months
his dog is dead
inside the bathroom
the whole house
stinks
all lines are cut off
it is dark
he arrives at night
dogs are howling
the trees have no leaves
the winds are cold
the path is
grassy and wild
the squirrels left
when he arrives
nuts
the rats stand at
the door watching
his every move
there is a mirror
at the veranda
at the side of the
door
it is hazy
it could be me
in this
horrible
thought
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If God closes one door, He opens a thousand others.
When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.
quote by Alexander Graham Bell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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