Tiny Observations...
everything above the world where he lives is gray,
it looks like the dogs and cats are coming.
the euphemisms inside the leaves of new journals do not work for his
suppressed silence
now it is time for the circus of cliches
in the kiosk of the town
comes another exhibition
the one who can make the longest distance of his pee
there is nothing about those hours of wee
the houses of whores and resting places of the plebes
some hands are as usual cruel
touching nothing but the selfishness of the uncut nails
broken lives of the common cranes and ordinary drags,
sighs falling to the cobbled stones like trinkets
the gypsies still dance for the money
on unmapped journeys
towards unknown boundaries
here in this little Asian space
there will always be one thing that i miss
the white heron still peacefully on top of the thick faced water buffalo
relaxing on his muddy moments.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Square Water
SQUARE WATER
When the bus collapsed on the road
To the capital
A man in blue opened the hood
And spit at the engine
While off to the side
Down a rough slope
Was a square cut body of water
Neutral and calm for all:
Water buffalo, children and dogs.
A radiantly happy girl is climbing out.
The buffalo gaze over at two men
In white pith helmets and black clothes
Who seem to be digging a hole.
A bicycle is parked between the children
And the men
The water is roiled by swimmers
Splashing in the brown liquid.
Bruegel should have been there
To mix the ordinary with something
Unexpected:
Perhaps a boy with wings falling
Off in the distance.
That rapid movement might have caught
The eyes of the buffalo
But the men would have been too busy
Digging and the children would have been
Having too much fun to look up.
When the bus started I framed
A shot that included them all except
For the imaginary falling boy
Who only hit the water in my imagination.
poem by Burgess Needle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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About being ordinary
There is nothing
Exceptional,
Nothing special
With me,
I am just ordinary
In decency, in status,
I am what you call
the average man,
Of no special rank
Of lesser significance
I am found
In the most common
Places, undistinguished
in the most common men
in the market, in the mall,
in the park, in the beach,
in the streets, in the church,
in anywhere in everywhere
I am what you see
As plain, the usual
The most customary
that you meet &
easily forget
I am the
Normal person that you
Shake hands with,
whose name
does not linger
long enough in your mind
I live in the many
I am the numerous
I breathe the common Air
I drink the water
For everyone
I smell like the
Sweat of the rest
I look like everyone
Because I am the average
Because I am the ordinary
But without me
You will never be
Special
In truth it is us
The common ones
In this whole world
The background
These ordinary
Occurrences and
Resemblances
That make you
Exist,
We, the average,
We, the people of this world
We are the ordinary
And you cannot
Disregard us,
We are the many,
And we can always
Disregard you
If we really want to
we make you
and we can always unmake you
mister special..
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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288
There is nothing
Exceptional,
Nothing special
With me,
I am just ordinary
In decency, in status,
I am what you call
the average man,
Of no special rank
Of lesser significance
I am found
In the most common
Places, undistinguished
in the most common men
in the market, in the mall,
in the park, in the beach,
in the streets, in the church,
in anywhere in everywhere
I am what you see
As plain, the usual
The most customary
that you meet &
easily forget
I am the
Normal person that you
Shake hands with,
whose name
does not linger
long enough in your mind
I live in the many
I am the numerous
I breathe the common Air
I drink the water
For everyone
I smell like the
Sweat of the rest
I look like everyone
Because I am the average
Because I am the ordinary
But without me
You will never be
Special
In truth it is us
The common ones
In this whole world
The background
These ordinary
Occurrences and
Resemblances
That make you
Exist,
We, the average,
We, the people of this world
We are the ordinary
And you cannot
Disregard us,
We are the many,
And we can always
Disregard you
If we really want to
we make you
and we can always unmake you
mister special..
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hate That Destroys The World
when hate arrives with silent fury like a
tsunami,
so many lives are broken
so many houses are buried beneath
the muddy waters
have pity for the little girl
who was playing with her doll
when your gigantic waves
buried her alive,
that little boy was climbing the apple tree
to gather the ripe ones
mothers were frying bacon in the kitchen
as fathers went to work all day
in the ceramics factory
it was your hate that washed and buried them
all alive
and now
when you are at peace on
a subsiding fury
what do you have to see?
an island of debris
a long line of hungry people waiting for food and water
slippery roads
muddy feet
an open ground without shelter
lost dogs roaming the streets
an island that is warped in time in utter
distress
a sudden loneliness
the whole world watches
with horror and pity
inside you is another world full of guilt
what your hate has destroyed
you can never pay...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Space . . .
(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth)
On top of the world like a flag on a mountain
Feeling so high you can feel so alone
Unable to breathe at the height that you flew
Staring on clouds with no view of below
On top of a girl like a dream in a hotel
Falling toward something out of control
Unable to miss like the man in the tram
Crashing your car in amsterdam
He did it without knowing, didn't feel a thing
Just wrecked it and kept going
The space around the stars is something that you know
A billion miles of darkness left your feeling low
The space around the stars is something that you know
Everything about you so perfectly restrained
But everything inside you, bites you
Bites you
Everybody in the whole of the world, feels the same inside
Everybody in the whole, whole of the, whole of the of the world
Everyone is only everyone else
Everybody's got to know
Everybody lives and loves and laughs and cries
And eats and sleeps and grows and dies
Everybody in the whole of the world is the same this time
Everybody in the whole of the world, feels the same inside
Everybody in the whole, whole of the, whole of the, whole of the world
Everyone is only everyone else
Everybody's got to know
Everybody lives and loves and laughs and cries
And eats and sleeps and grows and dies
Everybody in the whole of the world
Everybody is the same this time
In the whole of the world
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Abandoned House And The Man Who Drags His Shoes To Make The Necessary Sound
when you arrive in the house
(the house that both of you built 17 years ago)
no one is there
not even the three white dogs
you have accepted this face of loneliness
without a mouth
it is its nature now
gentle in silence
there is nothing to talk about with someone else
when someone else is far away and seemingly taking all the hearts out
the door and the hinges have to keep things for themselves
for in truth, those who left the stairs
they still love
you have the key to the door of the kitchen
and that is where you start the journey towards the living room
you scurry on some little memories
it is like putting some words in your notes
in here and there beyond the margins
but it is not that endless really
for whatever it be
joy or death there's got to be an end
that is the truth of the meaning of
this word
it could be a dead-end
a street of walls
& then actually you are caught
in flagrante
where your only choice
is to go back,
retrace,
remember,
refresh
refrains, refrains
of a
love song
you go back to the room look longingly at the bed
the blankets are dusty and the pillows are stained with so much emptiness
or guilt
scruples
Freudian analysis
Carl Jung's other possibilities
of reconciliation
this is a very soundless world and
every part here is keeping its mouth shut
their layers of concealment are thick
and their canopies of
self-defenses are hard
you feel like this is one kind of a giant shell
and you are inside it
its flesh
all blistering
flesh
you decide to wear your shoes all throughout this scrutiny
this journey into marriage
into childlessness
into what if's
you drag your feet with your shoes on
as though someone is suffering and wanting to die
and you hold the collar
and you hurt the backbone
and in that open window
you imagine that someone may finally
jump like a scared cat
nine lives
thirty-six softest feet
you purposely make a sound with your shoes
tapping and tapping
and tapping
to create those sounds
of the past dances
just to fill an empty room
some thoughts jump out of the window
dressed in euphemisms
as the ceiling creates its own crankiness
its cloudiness
nine cats in you jump out that window
falling softly on the grass below
all thirty-six
dreams
it is nice to see of course
nine unharmed cats like fluffy cotton blown by the wind and gently
softly land on the grass
it is no wonder
why men sometimes invoke the sound of their whistling
indeed it is by this time
very relaxing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silence
I've been caught in a trap I set for myself
I don't want to be here when you could be somewhere else
So why'd I sit on my hands like a book on the shelf
When nothin' but dust is falling?
Everyone 'round here lives in silence
If I had something to say I'd say what I mean
How'd you lose all your words? I swear it's obscene, I curse
How'd you look at yourself as the mirror turns green?
Yeah, only the fools ignore us
Everyone 'round here lives in silence
I could wait all my life for someone to think
I can't open your eyes but I can make you blink at me
So please don't try to be nice, don't need your advice
Please leave me to die of boredom
Everyone 'round here lives in silence
Silence
They wait for the end
Silence
They bow and they bend
Silence
Their homes they defend
Silence
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buffalo Gal
Buffalo {repeat 16 times}
Buffalo gal,
Youve had your fun
Your buttons undone
And the times right for slaughter
Buffalo gal
Youre thirsty and theres no more water
Like the lamb on the altar
And its sad to see you looking down and feeling blue
Try your best to get on up and see it through
In a while you might smile and see the sun
Oww, the day has begun
{chorus}
And buffalo gal,
Theyre closing down the old dance hall
Ummm, buffalo gal,
What we gonna do now?
Buffalo gal,
Due to these circumstances
Theres no more dances
Buffalo gal,
[buffalo] all your chances of further romances
Will have to be nil
til I can get it sung
Is a shame your only claim to fame is jessie james
You know his middle name
Thats very strange
Stranger, you knew a friend called the friendly ranger
Oh, ya shared the danger
{repeat chorus}
Buffalo {repeat 16 times}
Buffalo gal,
You must try a big step
Youve got a big jump ahead
Buffalo gal,
The show left town
Spreading sunshine all around
And its bad to see ya, ooh, lookin blue
Dry your eyes and Ill apologise for all the lies
Try a smile and in a while, just in a while
Youll be smiling through
Ooh, buffalo gal,
Theyre closin down the old dance hall [buffalo {repeat 10 times} gal, gal]
And buffalo gal,
Oh, you look so good somehow [buffalo {repeat 9 times} gal]
Oh buffalo gal,
Oh, thats such a pretty dress [buffalo {repeat 8 times} gal]
Buffalo gal,
The show left town [buffalo {repeat 8 times} gal, gal]
Buffalo gal,
Take a picture
Of buffalo gal [buffalo {repeat 10 times}]
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amidst The Noise And The Haste
amidst the noise of people coming and going
passing you by
(they want all the while to stay and have a talk with you
for whatever
but you ignored them as you are busy with other
preoccupying things and events and places and
ideas, you write and keep on writing still in your journal,
the poems on used pages, the vandalism on the walls and
the painted words on the fences
of the house where you live)
you ask, what is this sea of people doing here
around you making all this whirhpools and waves
trying to drown you? or put you in a breathless space?
or pull you down in the oceanfloor of meaninglessness?
you look at them, and you do not find any meaning to their
flow, their movements anywhere, they all seem to have no
specific directions like
dusts and water bubbles only to spread and burst
what then? do you allow yourself to be drowned in their noise
and haste and
waste?
look inside you, investigate the available evidence of your heart
find there the magical silence
the wisdom of your past
pick them one by one like colored stones in the beach
put them in a jar
and look carefully the pieces the stones of what you are
you are never like them you are in them but you can never be one
like them
you are unique, and free and always
the center of your own
created universe
be good, be kind and sing sweetly your strong silence
live, live the way you like to live
just be yourself and to moments of haste and noise
close your eyes shut your mouth
and stay peacefully in the home of your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing Serious About The World
you open the pc
and look at the emails
surf about the word for today
a little facebook
ten minutes
then PH
some lines to reflect upon
just like passing rain
nothing to wet much
the plants are alive
and the ants don't need
much water
the fields are green
and the skies have to be
white and patches of blue
once in a while
already make the day
a better one
you dabble and scribble
and then
off you go
into the real word of
money and work
and some cliches
and the usual
business
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cats In The Well
The cats in the well, the wolf is looking down.
The cats in the well, the wolf is looking down.
He got his big bushy tail dragging all over the ground.
The cats in the well, the gentle lady is asleep.
Cats in the well, the gentle lady is asleep.
She aint hearing a thing, the silence is a-stickin her deep.
Bridge #1:
The cats in the well and grief is showing its face
The worlds being slaughtered and its such a bloody disgrace.
The cats in the well, the horse is going bumpety bump.
The cats in the well, and the horse is going bumpety bump.
Back alley sally is doing the american jump.
Bridge #2:
The cats in the well, and pappa is reading the news.
His hair is falling out and all of his daughters need shoes.
The cats in the well and the barn is full of bull
The cats in the well and the barn is full of bull
The night is so long and the table is oh, so full
Bridge #3:
The cats in the well and the servant is at the door.
The drinks are ready and the dogs are going to war.
The cats in the well, the leaves are starting to fall
The cats in the well, leaves are starting to fall
Goodnight, my love, may the lord have mercy on us all.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Between The Rush Hours Of The Day
imagine a sandwich
two square breads with same boring faces
to make it viable
we make it taste good by putting some fillings
some prefer the usual ham
and cheese with pickles
and lettuce leaves
imagine too ourselves
what lies between us to make this relationship work
some fillings
don't put indifference
we had tasted its bitterness and
blandness
let us try the usual
excitements of
the unknown
something we have not tried before
to places we have not been
too
perhaps we can be strangers again
not knowing what rivers are
or the reason for the stars
or perhaps we be children again
pointing our small fingers to the moon
imagine too my rush hours
words are coming in trains and
bullets
and i am bombarding with blacks and whites
and bold
too heavy to my sight
i have learned how to take the break
the fillings in between
a poem here and there
amidst the sour faces of lawyers
the sadness of the victims
the twisted jaws of
the culprits
there are words that must please
there is world that must
cohabit happiness
be it in the mind or somewhere else
i grab it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beans and Potatoes
Seventeen years on the graveyard shift
Retetitive work leaves her hands in pain
Swollen are her feet, fifty hours a week
leaves her body drained
Week to week pays of nothing more than minimum wage
Making ends meet is a constant strain
Beans and potatoes
All she has to show for her pain
A cigarette on her midnight break
As every muscle continues to ache
Knowing when arriving home her work is never done....
Wake the kids, rush them to school
Only then the real work has begun.
Grabs her pail to tend the garden crop
In the Kentucky mud, only the best potatoes she will shop
Put the beans on the stove, peel the potatoes,
Feed the children, tuck them into bed
Only then her work will stop
Every hour spent in the garden, and on the hard concrete factory floor
Every miracle made with the monthly bills
Are moments closer to lives her children will never endure
No money saved for a rainy day, nor money for college
Only by example she can lead, so each child knows
To want more out of their lives than beans and potatoes
poem by Carl Leiland
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Walking West
Anyone with quiet pace who
walks a gray road in the West
may hear a badger underground where
in deep flint another time is
Caught by flint and held forever,
the quiet pace of God stopped still.
Anyone who listens walks on
time that dogs him single file,
To mountains that are far from people,
the face of the land gone gray like flint.
Badgers dig their little lives there,
quiet-paced the land lies gaunt,
The railroad dies by a yellow depot,
town falls away toward a muddy creek.
Badger-gray the sod goes under
a river of wind, a hawk on a stick.
poem by William Stafford
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Peace And Propriety
in the name of propriety
to cats we must be cats too
you know what happens when
we show to the cats that we
are really dogs in feelings and
actions,
there will be a chase of course,
and chaos, and there will be war
and there will be losers and
winners,
and in this matter
and manner of speaking we choose
to be dogs to assure that we win
but that is not always the case
the cats have advanced in their feline
technology and breeding
so my dear, let us just be proper
to cats we shall be cats
and make this world a happy place
for all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Epic (Fairground) (Mushroom Farm Demo)
Track 9 of _Season's End_
On top of the world like a flag on a mountain
Feeling so high you can feel so alone
Unable to breathe at the height that you flew
Staring on clouds with no view of below
On top of a girl like a dream in a hotel
Falling towards something out of control
Unable to miss like the man in the tram
Crashing his car in Amsterdam
He did it without knowing
Didn't feel a thing
Just wrecked it and kept going
The space around the stars
Is something that you know
A billion miles of darkness
Left you feeling low
Everything about you
So perfectly restrained
But everything inside you
Bites you
Everybody in the whole of the world
Feels the same inside
Everybody in the whole of the whole of the whole of the world
Everyone is only everyone else
Everybody's got to know
Everybody lives and loves and laughs and cries
And eats and sleeps and grows and dies
Everybody in the whole of the world is the same this time
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Theif
I don't want to understand this horror
There's a weight in your eyes I can't admit
Everybody ends up here in bottles
But the name tag's the last thing you wanted
As the world explodes we fall out of it
And we can't let go because this
Will not go away
There's a house built out in space...
I can't see that thief that lives inside of your head
But I can be some courage at the side of your bed
I don't know what's happening and I can't pretend
But I can be your....
Someone help us understand who ordered
This disgusting arrangement with time and the end
I don't want to hear who walked on water
'Cause the hallways are empty, clocks tick
As the world implodes we fall into it
And we can't go home because this
Will not go away
There's a house built out in space...
I can't see that thief that lives inside of your head
But I can be some courage at the side of your bed
I don't know what's happening and I can't pretend
It's a long long getaway, it's a long long getaway
Make it home again, make it home again
It's a long long getaway, it's a long long getaway
I can't see that thief that lives inside of your head
But I can be some courage at the side of your bed
I don't know what's happening and I can't pretend
But I can be your....
And I can be your.....
It's a long long getaway
song performed by by Our Lady Peace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0004 M i n d
and mind might ask,
why then are brain cells gray? Is it
because the world is just
so wonderful, that they, stunned
and amazed, cannot decide
which colour to praise first?
(Mix all the colours of the paints,
and the result is gray.)
or is it because they feel themselves
so dull in comparison
with the miracle which is creation,
the miracle they (miracles themselves) , faithful, serve?
(Mix all the colours of the spectrum,
and the result is white.)
or is it, because they know
their work lies between ultimates
such as (do they themselves
call them this?) black,
and white? do they know
their work is equity –
to balance all things, so that gray is not gray
as we use gray for worldly metaphor; but
the gray of lakes at peace;
of silver that lives in itself,
needing no sun but its own innerness;
mercury that is moved but longs
to be united in a perfect sphere;
gray of clouds that know
the blessings that they hold;
and, the shining gray of mind -
for which gray hair is living metaphor,
the wisdom which life holds in store for you -
as how many poets, this moment round the world,
are joining new electric paths of thought between
these tiny, great gray worm-like cells which hide, compact,
their vast and inner space which spins out eager words
of metaphor, for that so nameless,
boundless, dazzling spectrum,
the radiant space of self?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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His Dog Is His Best Friend
She loves and lives with another now his former wife
But his dog remains with him his true friend for life
And for as long as she lives his dog with him will stay
Just for a few pats and a feed every day.
Since dogs are ever faithful for that is their way
He knows that his dog him would never betray
When he comes home from work him she's happy to see
Your dog's love for you a true love would you not agree?
Of cruelty to animals we hear of and read
And the one cruel to animals is a cruel one indeed
And since your animal for cruelty unable to sue
The Karma you sow is what will be your due.
The only true friend that he has in the town
His dog is the one who would not leave him down
On his arrival home from work she does patiently wait
And she wags her tail for to greet him at the gate.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sheep In The Ruins
for Learned and Augustus Hand
You, my friends, and you strangers, all of you,
Stand with me a little by the walls
Or where the walls once were.
The bridge was here, the city further:
Now there is neither bridge nor town—
A doorway where the roof is down
Opens on a foot-worn stair
That climbs by three steps into empty air.
(What foot went there?)
Nothing in this town that had a thousand steeples
Lives now but these flocks of sheep
Grazing the yellow grasses where the bricks lie dead beneath:
Dogs drive them with their brutal teeth.
Can none but sheep live where the walls go under?
Is man’s day over and the sheep’s begun?
And shall we sit here like the mourners on a dunghill
Shrilling with melodious tongue—
Disfiguring our faces with the nails of our despair?
(What dust is this we sift upon our hair?)
Because a world is taken from us as the camels from the man of Uz
Shall we sit weeping for the world that was
And curse God and so perish?
Shall monuments be grass and sheep inherit them?
Shall dogs rule in the rubble of the arches?
Consider, Oh consider what we are!
Consider what it is to be a man—
He who makes his journey by the glimmer of a candle;
Who discovers in his mouth, between his teeth, a word;
Whose heart can bear the silence of the stars— that burden;
Who comes upon his meaning in the blindness of a stone—
A girl’s shoulder, perfectly harmonious!
Even the talk of it would take us days together.
Marvels men have made, Oh marvels!—and our breath
Brief as it is: our death waiting—
Marvels upon marvels! Works of state—
The imagination of the shape of order!
Works of beauty—the cedar door
Perfectly fitted to the sill of basalt!
Works of grace—
The ceremony at the entering of houses,
At the entering of lives: the bride among the torches in the shrill carouse!
Works of soul—
Pilgrimages through the desert to the sacred boulder:
Through the mid night to the stroke of one!
Works of grace! Works of wonder!
All this have we done and more—
And seen—what have we not seen?—
A man beneath the sunlight in his meaning:
A man, one man, a man alone.
In the sinks of the earth that wanderer has gone down.
The shadow of his mind is on the mountains.
The word he has said is kept in the place beyond
As the seed is kept and the earth ponders it.
Stones—even the stones remember him:
Even the leaves—his image is in them.
And now because the city is a ruin in the waste of air
We sit here and despair!
Because the sheep graze in the dying grove
Our day is over!
We must end
Because the talk around the table in the dusk has ended,
Because the fingers of the goddesses are found
Like marble pebbles in the gravelly ground
And nothing answers but the jackal in the desert,—
Because the cloud proposes, the wind says!
Because the sheep are pastured where the staring statues lie
We sit upon the sand in silence
Watching the sun go and the shadows change!
Listen, my friends, and you, all of you, strangers,
Listen, the work of man, the work of splendor
Never has been ended or will end.
Even where the sheep defile the ruined stair
And dogs are masters—even there
One man’s finger in the dust shall trace the circle.
Even among the ruins shall begin the work,
Large in the level morning of the light
And beautiful with cisterns where the water whitens,
Rippling upon the lip of stone, and spills
By cedar sluices into pools, and the young builders
String their plumb lines, and the well-laid course
Blanches its mortar in the sun, and all the morning
Smells of wood-smoke, rope-tar, horse-sweat, pitch-pine,
Men and the trampled mint leaves in the ditch.
One man in the sun alone
Walks between the silence and the stone:
The city rises from his flesh, his bone.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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