The Survivor....
the inner struggles
have been
not just few
the thinking
is like going to war
and massive
killings along the
way
the mind is a survivor
the body stands still
people see you
like a pillar
the house is strong
the beams not trembling
and the garden
is simply beautiful
clouds hang on the
roof
air goes in and out
this constant
visitor
the doors are open
here
the windows are
enigmatic
worries are like
urine
flooding the
legs but the mind
is quick
like a diaper
somehow the self is
as elastic
as the rubberized
path like the
one at the gym
one goes back to
the couch
recalls, relates,
a boat waits
to ferry you back
to your throat
and heart
there you spell
the words
perfectly and there
the blood corpuscles
have hands
and you hear them
clapping
well done
wait for the next
journey
outside the
veins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Expectedly
houses are strong
and well insulated
in your
hinterland
but mine is on top
of the hill
kissed by the sun
it is open to the
air
they come and go
and come again
this is the house without
doors and stairs
a house deprived of
windows
and peeping holes
and cracks and
slits
this is the house of the
sun
the earth loves it
its body attached
to the grass
it has no pillars
but trees
no roof but clouds
no walls but spaces
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Welcome To A Safehouse
this may look like
the house of a dove
for it has but one
pillar
for it has many windows
without an enclosure
it towers above them
almost touching
the hands of the wind
the sounds of cries
are as gentle as the early morning waves
on storms that fail to come
not much words here
just signs and
gazes
this the house of my mind
the doves of my thoughts
on the pillar of
privacy
on the windows of openness
no dogmas here
but freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cliché But True
The eyes those are the windows
The lips those are the doors
Just a bit of a hat for a roof
The arms and hands those are the yards
The legs and feet those are the paths
The human is the House – he dwells
And a Road back home – he travels
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Help me...
I am tired of knocking the windows and the doors,
Using my mighty limbs and legs and feeling the sadness,
At my heart, pushing the window as hard as I can,
People never hear my calling as they dip in their own,
Problems of puzzles that they have and I do not want to give up,
As I want to go out, then a hand pulled the knob to open up,
The closed window for me to fly out,
I am a butterfly, whose home is not a house.
I am lost in a house and trying to escape,
Just like this butterfly, we knock the same windows,
When we are clouded with worries and sorrows,
Not knowing that we need a hand to free us,
Banging again and again on the same window,
Blindly wishing for the window to be permeable,
Not knowing the needed help is available,
when the emotion is lost and the love is expired,
opportunities are erased and scarcity is established,
We do behave like this butterfly,
thinking the wrong as the right way.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poet's return
So I'm back again, never thinking I'd pick back up this pen, thinking about were my life has taken me, and where will it go next. Im coming to the brink where my life is about to change forever, deciding which path is right, the one that I take or another one that I make. But yet I'm back, back with the same old outlets, back to the same old problems; a tale as old as time itself with the worries of a decade...so im back. I never thought I'd write another poem, but poetry is all around us, its in every breath you take, in every beat your heart makes, in the fluid from your veins from even the fantasies in your brain, POETRY is everywhere. The truth of the matter is poetry, just like a beat of rhyme, is everywhere. Most know it, many adore it, few idolize it, but we all show it. Because one way or another were all are going to use it, and when that day comes....oh such a beautiful vision that our minds well never lose it.
poem by Augustus Gatlin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stretch Out And Wait
On the high-rise estate
What's at the back of your mind ?
Oh, a three-day debate
On a high-rise estate
What's at the back of your mind ?
Two icy-cold hands conducting the way
It's the eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay
And general decay
Nature must still find a way
So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile influences sway
This way and that way (this way)
This way and that way (this way)
God, how sex implores you
To let yourself lose yourself
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body, lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say
As we lie, you say
Stretch out and ...
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say :
Will the world end in the night time ?
(i really don't know)
Or will the world end in the day time ?
(i really don't know)
And is there any point ever having children ?
Oh, i don't know
What i do know is we're here and it's now
So ... stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
There is no debate, no debate, no debate
How can you conciously contemplate
When there's no debate, no debate ?
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Stretch Out & Wait
On the high-rise estate
Whats at the back of your mind ?
Oh, a three-day debate
On a high-rise estate
Whats at the back of your mind ?
Two icy-cold hands conducting the way
Its the eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay
And general decay
Nature must still find a way
So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile influences sway
This way and that way (this way)
This way and that way (this way)
God, how sex implores you
To let yourself lose yourself
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body, lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say
As we lie, you say
Stretch out and ...
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say :
Will the world end in the night time ?
(I really dont know)
Or will the world end in the day time ?
(I really dont know)
And is there any point ever having children ?
Oh, I dont know
What I do know is were here and its now
So ... stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
There is no debate, no debate, no debate
How can you conciously contemplate
When theres no debate, no debate ?
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hall Of Doors
You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight with death in mind
You watch people open their doors
And you think of how the doors and fate bind
You watch waiting to see your exit
As you see others turn down their path to their end
You know that the paths can not change
You know even with time fate shall not mend
Down the hall you walk
Doors lining each side
Every person holds the key to one of those locks
All around you people stride
Doors open
As people come to their door mats
You walk by doors just hoping,
hoping the next isn't yours, isn't your mat
You watch parents and children leaving eachothers sides
You see love being torn, hate being sewn
as the doors open wide
Some people leave together, some alone
You wait to see your door, your fate
You watch to see which door your key fits
You watch to see if your heart is with love or hate
You watch untill you find the mat at which you shall sit
You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight, death in mind
You watch as people open their doors
You wait to see which door your fate lays behind.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Kind Of Sorrow, A Secret Suffering
to lose you i know is one kind sorrow
for i claim a loss that i never had even once owned.
a play of words, and i know you do not understand
what each word means, what a punctuation is.
this heart that grieves for what it cannot even touch
with its fragile hands, its trembling fingers
for what i see is but a glimmer
a faint light, a shadow, a hush, a slight glimpse
no one knows what secret suffering is all about
(secret so to say, i give it a language of its own)
a heart that bleeds without drops of blood
a heart injured yet without the bruises and wound
i mix with the crowd just like what we do when we go malling.
i smile like the way all people smile. i always have a glimpse of you.
yet i know, i do not wait for anybody, or anything, this is simply
an impossible endeavor. Clouds that dissipate. Air that vanish.
a door that closes. a bus that leaves. a plane turning into a dot in space.
i look up actually for nothing. i pretend sometimes that there are stars where there are none but black clouds and tree tops.
i look down and only see suffering. Pebbles and gray sands.
i sleep without remembering my dreams. i wake up not thinking
about what to do specifically with my life. I have everything you say.
but since i do not have you, i am still nothing. I am simply arms emptied
of its embrace. I am hands groping with nothing but space.
it does not matter. i touch my chest and feel that i am strong.
i give up the gift of speech. I take in the gift of words written in utter silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Leaking Roof
it is raining and here i am stuck
under the roof of a deserted house
the windows are open
nobody has come to close four windows
looking to the street like an insomniac,
the door is creaky like a sore throat
sounding like an incurable allergic sneeze
the crazy wind bangs it from time to time
and i do not mind the routine of noise
for a while a walk to and fro
like i am making a picket
observing the details of how a deserted house
can look like
or feel like: there seems to be a growling silence
abbreviating itself like a scream
cut short by my hands kept inside my pocket
i look up and see the leaking roof
making a rhythm of the dripping beat
of this poem.
i have nothing in mind, i am empty
and emptying still. I take in so much quantity
of silence, the weight of thoughts,
the silly purposeless probe
of what i am suppose to be and where i must be going
after this temporariness of loafing.
The rain stops. I am leaving.
The rhythm ceases.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Teasing Moon....
sometimes to
complete the woodenness of the floor
you simply have to close the door
make the planks
exclusive to
its beams
with all the nails
sleeping
the windows with open eyes
beg to be exempted
from the hassle
of privacy
the view of the sea making love to the sky
is simply irresistible
the moon is teasing you to take the boat
but to do this you need to open the door of the house
where no one lives.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Do Not Worry
Take your right hand,
Palm facing up,
And line your fingers
With your teeth.
Hold firmly onto the roof of your mouth.
Do the same with your left hand,
But grip your chin.
Move your hands in opposite directions
Until you hear your jaw cracking
Against the pressure
You put yourself through.
Let your face relax
Back into place.
Let your elastic skin
Rubber-band back into the folds
Sagging over the shadows on your face.
Let it cover your wrinkles
And worry lines.
Then, try again.
Try to unfold your head.
Open it like a book.
Expose your throat to the wind
To let it blow the words
You couldn't speak away.
Split your lips at the seams,
So that a smile may spread its way
Across your rigid cheeks.
Do not worry when your skull
Whacks against your back
And ricochets into the air.
Do not worry when your jaw
Slaps and swings at your chest
By the light current of the breeze.
Do not worry when your blood
Spills all over,
Drenching the dirty ground
And the eyes of everyone
As they watch you
Pull yourself apart.
Do not worry.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Travelling
a travel is a metaphor of a journey
and a journey is always
what life is all about
arrivals and departures and i see it well
at airports
and well, so well, at pre-departures
then we move inside the plane and
the doors close and we are lifted to the skies
for hours you are beside the clouds
but you never have the courage to open the window
and touch each fine cotton beside you
crazy but sometimes i think that way
opening closed windows and think not of the
prohibitions and the consequencies,
there is so much silence up there and it is the mind
that does much of the talking and you listen
always for the reminders of the stewardess
and the captain telling you that
we are 30,000 feet above sea level and out there
you see Panay Island
we will be flying for one hour and a half
it is a fine day
and then the seat belt sign is on for the
turbulence but you do not mind
you look forward to an arrival and the another
opening of a door to a destination
touchdown, the plane lands perfectly as always
no plane crash, no headlines for the daily news
but i do not really think about these matters anymore
i am thinking of the silence. I am thinking about the mind that
keeps on talking. Data. Ideas. Sad memories.
Dead parents. Sick sibling. Flowers. Trees.
The sun brightly shining behind a
Thick Cumulus cloud.
the stewardess announces an arrival, fifteen minutes
earlier than scheduled. Fast plane. My thoughts unconsumed.
we step down. we take our bags. this journey never stops.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wheel Deal
Looks like we're home
but chances are gone
as long as we keep on trying
it goes just on and on
baby let's share a toast
cueueing for a fake toilet
hear your dictionsir spell wizard
miles are over open season
ridin'the road mind the gas
cause it's such a marvellous place
try to go there
cross the water
and if the directions were right
you'll find yourself by my side
legs were broken
so i sold them
lost in my lane
driven insane
deep in the mouth of science
well if i could rewrite as on a level-flight
the words that i used to told her
hear your dictionsir spell wizard
miles are over open season
plenty of caps to collect
posters and cans in the back
clouds were broken
when i saw them
i payed the room for the night
had something money can't buy
worth a token
left unspoken
song performed by by Yuppie Flu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Clouds Begin To Hang On The Dryland
on the dry lands where my house stands
today
some clouds begin to hang
on the side of the
big mountains
they are forming rain
gathering all the dew
and mist and
fog
i sent the vapors
of tears
i wait for the clouds
to ripen
and become too heavy
to carry itself
to a distance
and then the raindrops
finally come
sliding on my roof
the waters rise
forming
the river where
all my sorrows
sail
toward the sea
somewhere
or whatever
that place where
everything simply becomes
nothing
unidentifiable
where i am no longer myself
or yours
or theirs
on some marks of
ownership
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where Do We Go From Here?
after 70 years
of so much planning
nothing exciting
really happened in
his life,
he concludes everything
is wrong
because he is actively doing
everything
for him
he did not give fate a chance
to shape his own life
it is life that takes us
where to go
and life is a silent friend
it does not tell us
anything
we simply wait
for the surprises
a boat may arrive from a far horizon
and waits upon us at the nearby pier
we shall step inside its body
& it will take us
to a place
intended for our own good
a black bird my hover on the window sill of our house
and sings
and we who listen to the sweetness of its song
shall learn
about the most beautiful thing that can happen
out there
the next day shall be another adventure and fun
for we are life's children
and she is our loving mother
we simply have to open our eyes
alert our ears
and be sensitive to each and every sign
that life
everyday sends us
we simply must enhance the trust
and surely it will be good
and beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Holocaust Poem
I am a survivor of a holocaust
The horror of which
most people could not imagine.
I was brutally beaten and raped by an S.S officer
Then packed in a train
going to the gas chambers of Auschwitz
As if I was a sardine
Not a human being.
If my rapist was still alive
I would tell him
You violated my body
But you did not rape my soul.
Because I am a survivor
I refuse to give you the satisfaction
of fitting my heart
with a pace maker.
Life beckons for me
To truly live
To open the greatest gift
God gave us.
I will smell the sweetness of every blossom
And watch the sunset
Every evening.
Because I am a survivor.
I am a survivor
I am a survivor
I am a survivor.
I am not defined by the numbers
on my arm
I have the heart of a lion.
Because of the strength
God gave me
Hear me roar.
poem by Justin Tanabe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Upon Writing This Poem
you see, everyone is asleep
and the rain pours heavily on the tin roof of this old house
the white dog lays with its four legs facing the ceiling
feeling so contented
i closed the glass windows
and let the brown curtains fall
on the floor
as i begin to write the words i am not thinking of anybody else
is there someone still who is special to remember
during a heavy rain on a night like this when i am already alone by
myself?
i still have a suspended answer to all these questions
or perhaps they have no answers still
for the past 30 years
now with some white hairs and extended forehead
i am at home with myself
and no rain how heavy and how long
can instill in me the fear
of its monotonous sound
my feet have roots and my hands have tendrils
my head is a big sunflower
and the void out there is such a beautiful greenfield
on a limitless horizon
this world is an open window
this earth is a big boat
and i am now the sailor expectant of islands
and welcoming ports
bustling cities
diamond lights
starry skies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old House in the Glen
Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.
The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.
If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.
The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.
The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.
poem by Kate Wiley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!