The Straight Jacket
i am trying to shape
a world
with my own private thoughts
away from the mob
i am situating myself in a room
on closed doors and closed windows
except the light that i allow to enter
on glassy blocks
the walls will always be there
air comes through the ceiling
on tiny holes
i tried to forget viewing the stars
i must survive even without the light of the moon
it is less romantic
and i am no lunatic
but then she hints on what am i
saying: the fish is meant for the sea
the dog is always meant for a walk
the sparrow cannot live without flying on its wings
and she asks me: will you just be a poet?
or will you be the man for the seasons?
before she left, she left a note stuck on the fridge
magnetically: you are more than the fish, the sparrow, the dog
must i be? i sleep tightly like a straitjacket.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Into My Own Privacy....
i do not wish that you become a part of me
like light to my room
i do not need any
i thrive in the comfort of my own darkness
with an option
whether to partake with light
or not
i am but a room with a little space
a small bed enough for my arms and legs
just enough
for my sleep,
i destroyed the ceiling
so i can see the
stars
i closed the windows and doors
so i cannot be
with anybody
i do not wish you to stay and be friendly
i like to enjoy how is it to be unfriendly
in some
moments where i cherish my own privacy
the silence of the paper in cohort with the pen
that romance with words and symbols
and in between thoughts, the precious solitude of
not being with anyone,
i am both the deserting and the deserted.
it's a certain stage and i want more of it
without all of you, i have this gift of thought.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Sparrow
Little sparrow
Dolly parton = little sparrow
(chorus)
Little sparrow, little sparrow,
Precious fragile little thing
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Flies so high and feels no pain.
All ye maidens heed my warning
Never trust the hearts of men
They will crush you like a sparrow
Leaving you to never mend.
They will vow to always love you
Swear no love but yours will do
Then theyll leave you for another
Break your little heart in two
Repeat chorus
If I were a little sparrow, over these mountains I would fly
I would find him, I would find him, look into his lying eyes
I would flutter all around him, on my little sparrow wings
I would ask him, I would ask him, why he left me loving him
Repeat chorus
I am not a little sparrow, I am just the broken dream
Of a cold false-hearted lover and his evil cunning scheme
Repeat chorus
All ye maidens fair and tender
Never trust the hearts of men
They will crush you, like a sparrow
Leaving you to never mend.
Little sparrow, little sparrow,
Oh my sorrow never ends.
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Closed Walls
those closed walls so tightly pressed to my face
so thin i could hear through to the next room
but not thin enough for me to break free
no windows
nor door
i wonder how i got here
alone and frightend
at one point i once enjoyed
but now as i look at this room no bigger than me why would i
these closed walls must be speaking to me or im delousional
but they told me
once free you must change
change how you think
change how you look at things
change how you love
change how you act
for a momment i listened
but i knew i couldn't
i can change my outer apperance
but never how i think
thesefucking walls must think im stupid
i can think as i please
.
never come near these closed walls.
poem by Martel Alexis
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Come To Me I Pray
(8/17/12)
Sitting in the darkest corner of the room
Hoping that this love would come real soon
So come to me I pray, and that with
Me you will forever stay.
Love may only come once in a lifetime to some
And many loves to others
But to me you are my lifetime love
Sent to me from up above.
You fill the skies with your light
And turn my darkest night bright.
Your love like the ocean beating up
Against the shore, holding me forever more.
So I will tell you of my love the best I can
So that you will understand.
********************************** ***
I am but a small little tree in a large forest
Looking for a ray of light, that will make me
Sing with delight.
A small fish in a pond-where all the other fish have gone.
A little sparrow in the sky- where hawks dare to fly.
The tip of a rainbow with all its colors
Which no one ever seems to find
cause they're Looking way too high.
I am all this rolled into one
And these things I have become.
I am the beautiful rainbow way up high
I am the sparrow - with eagles I fly
I am the fish who has become the whale
And for your love I will not fail.
I am the little tree with the largest roots below the ground
I have grown without a sound.
I am your love -can't you see
A greater love there'll never be.
poem by Louis Rams
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Why Am I Needing This?
I am not those dark days lived.
To perform an existing within shadows.
I am not,
One who sits comfortably...
Fixed to fears,
Of my own image appearing...
On walls that I visit forelorned.
I can not accept a misery imposed upon me.
I can not accept...
My own reflection hinting with signs of neglect.
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I am the light that brightly shines...
Beyond closed and locked doors,
My mind has been convinced...
I'm needing more to restrict my addictions.
I'm needing more of this...
To keep and explore!
'I am not those dark days lived',
I say.
'I am not that one existing,
Within the restriction of shadows.'
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I live beyond closed and locked doors!
And yet I am a victim,
Of my own self inflicting addictions.
Why am I needing this...
To keep adventured and explored?
'Why am I needing this?
Why from it I just can't quit? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unclean
I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am
like an owl of the desert. I watch, and am
as a sparrow alone upon the housetop.
Psalm 102
The pelican in scripture is unclean. It pukes dead fish
onto the hatchlings, and it roosts alone, like Satan
on the Tree of Life. Nobody told me. I liked pelicans.
I liked owls, too. I used to lie awake and listen,
wanting to become an owl, to fly, to see through darkness,
turn my head, and look straight back behind me. I was
happy, as kids go, but I did not belong in human form.
Sparrows peck grain from fresh dung. In this world rich
means filthy. Leopardi, in his high Romantic musings
on the sparrow, does not say the poet is a shitbird, just
that, singing by himself, he acts like one, and wishes
he could feel more like one, unashamed to do so. Here,
the preacher (burning in his bones with fever, puking
half-digested fish, and hooting, sleepless in the ruins
like the baleful dead) cries: O Lord, take me not away.
poem by Brooks Haxton
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A Fish In Your Hand
Many, many fish are washed ashore on the beach.
So vast as the eye can reach.
An old man is picking up the fish and throwing back to sea.
His grandson asks, 'Grandpa, how can you put all the fish to the sea.? '
He answers, ' Of course not, but the one in my hand is lucky.
It will survive and live happily.'
Then the boy joins him picking and throwing back the fish into water.
In the sky, flying in a circle
are meat-eating vultures.
The sun is getting hotter and hotter.
The fish are getting weaker and weaker.
The vultures are flying lower and lower.
The time is getting lesser and lesser.
Let us pick the fish Now or Never.
Let the nearby poor kids
be the lucky fish
saved by your own hand
like that of old man.
(based on a story I heard long time ago)
The Strangest Creature On Earth
You're like a scorpion, my brother,
you live in cowardly darkness
like a scorpion.
You're like a sparrow, my brother,
always in a sparrow's flutter.
You're like a clam, my brother,
closed like a clam, content,
And you're frightening, my brother,
like the mouth of an extinct volcano.
Not one,
not five--
unfortunately, you number millions.
You're like a sheep, my brother:
when the cloaked drover raises his stick,
you quickly join the flock
and run, almost proudly, to the slaughterhouse.
I mean you're strangest creature on earth--
even stranger than the fish
that couldn't see the ocean for the water.
And the oppression in this world
is thanks to you.
And if we're hungry, tired, covered with blood,
and still being crushed like grapes for our wine,
the fault is yours--
I can hardly bring myself to say it,
but most of the fault, my dear brother, is yours.
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Nightwalker
I sleep at night
On a cloud high on the horizon
And when I close my eyes
My soul is struck by lightning
Then I sleep at night
Like a storm
Oh, I walk the night
cause your head is gone from my pillow
And when the twilight shines
My eyes crash through the windows
cause I sleep at night without you
When its dark and the night lays me down
When the moon shines the light on the ground
I just run where my thoughts take me to
cause I cant live in this world
Without love without you
I walk the night
I walk the night
Oh, I dream at night
It must be a madmans rainbow that Im chasing
cause when I close my eyes
I feel your sweet sensation
cause I dream at night about you
When its dark and the night lays me down
When the moon shines the light on my ground
I just run where my thoughts take me to
cause I cant live in this world
Without love without you
I walk the night
I walk the night
I just run where my thoughts take me to
cause I cant live in this world
Without love without you
I walk the night
I walk the night
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some things that can happen with a fish
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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31
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Strangest Creature Of The World
you look lıke a scorpion my friend
you live cowardly ın darkness like a scorpion
you look like a sparrow my friend
you are in the haste of a sparrow
you look like a mussel my friend
like a mussel closed and comfortable
and you are terrible my friend
like the muzzel of a volcano
your number not one
you are not five
but unfortunately there are millions of you
on the world
you look like lamb my friend
when well clad cattle dealer with cloak
raises his baton
you immediately join the herd
and proudly
you run to the slaughter house quickly
that to say word by word
you are the strangest creature of the world
you are stranger than the fish living in the sea
but do not know anything about the sea
and in this world
the tyranny overwhelms the world for the sake of you
and if we are hungry
weary and if the blood is shed sparıngly
and if we are pressed and pounded fiercely to yield our wines
ı do not want to say that
and though ı do not intend this
but it is a reality
most of the faults are yours
behold it
and learn this learn
my dear brethren
Nazım HİKMET
translation Metin ŞAHİN
poem by Metin Sahin
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L8,2212
There is a door which you open
you enter, and then it closes you
behind you
forever,
there is no force here,
but only volition,
you enter it
with all the warnings,
that the
possibility that it will close forever
has been told to you
over and over
again,
somehow, you do not make it a problem
you like a closed door, and you hate it
when it opens,
you love it when it is closed forever,
the room is nice
there is a certain loveliness
in there,
it has shiny floors,
it has a bright ceiling,
the lights are lovely,
like stars
in an open dark sky
the air is fresh,
the walls are comfortable
who wants to take an exit?
no one.not you.
when the door knows this, it will open
forever,
it decides to open for you
and it will tell you to go out and be
an outsider again and
be gone
for good,
you insist that you own this room now,
that a closed door is not a serious matter
and there is no way that you have to
go out
or be ousted,
the door has a stair with strong hands
and it will drag you out
it will pull your hair and drag your body
like hell
the door has learned its lesson
when the room is not a prison to someone else
there is no use keeping him there forever
for in truth the reason of the door's
existence
is to make you feel the prison and to suffer
and you know your lesson too well
there is no prison to a mind that is an open window
there is no suffering
to a lover of suffering
you see, it takes a little reverse psychology
for closed doors to open
for men to know that suffering is not suffering
at all
when one loves is tripping
when one thinks
otherwise
when one loves whatever happens
when one accepts
the one that is there and not look for something
that is always missing
why go for the unreachable?
why suffer for long?
life is life, and death is death
you are here, grab this here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Thing Left
My life is one big smile
As I cross off the things on my list
The splendor goes on for miles
I don't know what could be left to wish
I'm just living the dream
I do all right if you know what I mean
Chorus:
And I've closed the door
And locked it tight
And turned off every single light
Another perfect day is all but through
Now me getting over you
Is the one thing left to do
Yeah, yeah, yeah
The whole world has gone insane
The paper says so every day
And I can always feel the rain
Even when the sun's in the way
Yeah just living the dream
I wish my eyes could forget what they've seen
Chorus:
I've closed the door
And locked it tight
And turned off every single light
And walked away just like you asked me to
Now me getting over you
Is the one thing left to do
Yeah I know that it's me who's not well
But there's no one but you I can tell
Chorus:
As I close the door
And lock it tight
And turn off every single light
And walk away just like you asked me to
But me getting over you
Is the one thing left to do
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Is the one thing left to do
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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About The Sparrow In The Park
that there was once a sparrow
in the park
Papa and I never had the
time seeing it
we did not spend time
together
sitting in the park
viewing a sparrow in front of us
i never had the chance
asking him about the sparrow
neither did he.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Revolving Doors
I forget where I've been going
As I enter the tall building
Through the glassy revolving doors.
In circles, I spin, not knowing
What the other side's withholding
Through the glassy revolving doors.
The human traffic keeps flowing
Around frames of glossy gilding
Through the glassy revolving doors.
Yet somehow I end up nowhere.
I'm never close getting there
Through the glassy revolving doors.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Flights
Little sparrow, little sparrow
The prince is gone
Romance and magic flown
Little sparrow, little sparrow
Why do you circle round,
Round the hospital ground
And courtyard littered, concrete
Of facade gray, fading yellow red
Flocks and flocks a circling
Circling to escape sun beams
Seek holes and niches
Crevices and crannies
To nest in concrete
Tweeting calling, thrill of flight
Come in bands and crowds
Crowds and flocks
Each no bigger than my palm
Magpii and magi
Bewithcing souls of flight
And never landing, in my sight
Little sparrow little sparrow
What secret do you know
Impels you to go and fly about
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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The Mother Sparrow Grieves Upon The Untimely Death Of Her Beloved Fledgling
today, there is no grand funeral
like that of the death of
a statesman
or that simple funeral fit for
a laborer in the world of
mankind,
the mother sparrow grieves over
the death of her fledgling
there is no burial
they do not know what are white flowers
their meaning
the torn wings are carried by the worker-ants
some useless feathers are left above a sand mound
soon there are skeletons of frail bones
baked throughout the year by the sun
soon only dusts
the mother sparrow as we knew it from science
does not keep a memory
they keep on their far journey
nest from nest to nest on those seasons
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Closed Door
Do you know that it hurts?
Do you know that I cry?
Do you know that I'm broken,
Deep down inside?
Do you know that I'm scared?
Do you know that I tried?
Do you know that I'm empty,
And I said my goodbyes?
I know you don't love me.
I don't blame you.
Because nobody sees
Behind closed doors.
I am a closed door.
A lock with no key.
I'm trapped inside
My world of Quiet.
I can't let you in.
I can't let me out.
I'm just a Nothing
That the world can live without.
So goodbye, goodbye,
To the sun and blue sky.
Goodbye to a life
That left me behind.
I'm leaving you behind now.
Because it hurts.
And because I'm scared.
And because nobody sees
Behind closed doors.
Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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