Trois.....
we are all the same
towards the destination
that island of
desire
three of us in this
boat
body
we do not mention names
what for?
the elements of wind and fire
and hands and thighs
and tongues
making memories on sands
and picking time like pickles
licking the
toothpick
and opening the
legs of what they do not
beforehand
understand as the three of these
who are here
unwind and in freedom
discover
the secret of
what cannot be uttered
here leave the hands
and mouth
open.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Plain
spread. white.
thin. two x two.
rectangular,
you stretch your imagination.
open a scar again.
remove the cut.
undress.
open your lips.
pout.
kiss my feet.
rise.
kiss my head.
i will kneel
don't. please remain
standing.
my tongue can do it.
only for you.
i cannot say a word.
tongue
tied.
i am licking a stamp.
preparing this
mail to a faraway
lover.
i remember what licking
is beside
a stamp.
my feet are too small
for this task. i may ask the help
of four hands.
i have only one
held by this hand.
too much silence here.
i have this thick blanket
and the wind is
too cold.
there is a point
that i toss with my nails
it rolls like a line
and
i am connecting to you
thighs. thighs.
strong legs, and a very warm
pair of lips.
how can i be numb?
you are far.
that is not fair.
i make love to you.
my mind is a traveller into that thousand nights.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Burning Down
]from the back of my neck, oh oh oh
Wired a glass jaw, oh oh
Plantation burning your boat is coming in
Strum your jews-harp, youre reeking gin
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Johnny mike is reading in the yard
His storys timely, oh oh oh
What river is it anyway, radio
Not in a boat, in your ear
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
You pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Hes cooking in the woods, a brush fire in your neck
Feeling mighty mighty, oh oh oh
You can pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buddhist Lesson # 2
enlightment,
the act of opening,
like a rosebud,
like a mother,
opening the door...
like a child
opening a present,
like a woman
opening to a man....
opening...
all the hidden chambers,
every door to every
secret kingdom of the soul.....
opening the box that holds
your secret thoughts, desires....
opening...
the door of the cage,
letting the winged breath fly....
opening....
your heart to itself,
and to all hearts beating....
opening....
the vault of conceptions,
the entrance to the tomb
of past lives and memories....
opening...
your hands to the world
as if it were your neighbor,
and you, it's home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Faith Healer
[Alex Harvey]
If your body's feeling bad
And it's the only one you have
You want to take away the pain
Go out walking in the rain
You watch the flowers go to bed
Ask the man inside your head
Your spirit never has to grieve
All you've got to do's believe
The faith healer, the faith healer
All you've got to do is feel
Your body's going to start to heal
The fingertips of holy fire,
Everlasting sweet desire
It never mattered
What the doctor said
The healer man will sail away
It's immortality for two,
Oh the miracles
They will come to you
From faith healer,the faith healer
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Faith, and hope, and charity,
The simple relativity
He can make you understand
All you've got to take his hand
Remember somebody said
Ask the man inside your head
The fingertips of holy fire,
Everlasting sweet desire
The faith healer, the faith healer!
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Let me put my hands on you?
Let me put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
The faith healer, the faith healer...
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to Clothes
Every morning you wait,
clothes, over a chair,
to fill yourself with
my vanity, my love,
my hope, my body.
Barely
risen from sleep,
I relinquish the water,
enter your sleeves,
my legs look for
the hollows of your legs,
and so embraced
by your indefatigable faithfulness
I rise, to tread the grass,
enter poetry,
consider through the windows,
the things,
the men, the women,
the deeds and the fights
go on forming me,
go on making me face things
working my hands,
opening my eyes,
using my mouth,
and so,
clothes,
I too go forming you,
extending your elbows,
snapping your threads,
and so your life expands
in the image of my life.
In the wind
you billow and snap
as if you were my soul,
at bad times
you cling
to my bones,
vacant, for the night,
darkness, sleep
populate with their phantoms
your wings and mine.
I wonder
if one day
a bullet
from the enemy
will leave you stained with my blood
and then
you will die with me
or one day
not quite
so dramatic
but simple,
you will fall ill,
clothes,
with me,
grow old
with me, with my body
and joined
we will enter
the earth.
Because of this
each day
I greet you
with reverence and then
you embrace me and I forget you,
because we are one
and we will go on
facing the wind, in the night,
the streets or the fight,
a single body,
one day, one day, some day, still.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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These Bends
I’m more than a little lost and found
But this town, it is dead
And there’s to many hypocrisies in my head
And it just wind, wind, unwinds me out
Just give me some time
Then give me a place, (somewhere new)
Bewildering concepts of time and space
They all just wind, unwind, wind out of me
A year and a day and three broken hearts are
Books lined up on the shelves of
Too many words I said
But I just wind, wind, unwind myself
Ghosts of a thousand memories
Have taken over this place just
Faces in dreams and corners
They help me wind, wind unwind myself out
Of this place and at this time
I need a new escape
When is my next escape?
Or release, from me, my mind, my fears, my dreams
So I don’t wind, wind, unwind, myself out of here
poem by Victoria Mcvicar
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She Is No Longer Innocent About The Ways Of The World
you think she is as fragile as a thin glass of cherry wine
that when you touch the tip with your finger
she blushes and the glass gets warmer with your thumb
its bottom at the mercy of your palm
you like to think that she is a flower blooming on the month of May
where the dews are as careful as the sap of the red melon
nothing that stains the skin and dirties the white linen
then you discover a lot of things
first, the way she uses the pillow putting it just bellow her buttocks
then the way she calls your name like the hush of the break of day's breeze
from the distant sea
mournful and yet so awakening to your senses
the way she puts her legs and spreads her arms to hold your body
she is like the full moon peeping over the window that you open
you let her in and she sleeps like a fantasy dream on your bed
every sense of you wakes up like there is a fire in the house
adrenalin rushes inside your thighs
you are undressed and in the naked truth you come to her
something unspeakable
unfathomed
giving you the freedom to plunge in the paradise
long denied by them for you
you found the map to her labyrinth of pleasure
and once there
you do not want to leave
this is your home
your niche where your hands thrive like the needles of grass
where you mind glows like the stars
alive and singing
this is pleasure immeasurable
her lips her breasts her arms her abdomen her eyes
her hands gripping your hands
her feet entwined like the vine to the pillar of your house
her soft voice her moans
the cock is crowing and by all means say hello to a very
nice morning
a new day to the first day of your life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Imagining.....imaging... Aging
youth imagines a lot.
middle age is engaged in
some imaging,
what once was too supple
and firm
and protruding on silky white
wet upper apparel
and what seems to be a tiny
island of a shadow
in between two
sides
then comes the last portion of
the story of the wine,
it is aged
a new flavor comes to the
nostrils:
memories of lights and shadows
oranges and tequila
and hands and thighs
and lips and tongues
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wind makes me just as Fire
The wind makes me feel-
finally free
The stronger it hits my skin-
the more vividly I see
The fire is inside of me
I go outside-
and touch the wind
Hearing cracks and licks-
as if being whipped
I raise my hands-
yearning so much freedom
My eyes shut
Not knowing what it is I've done-
I realize
Watching this fire in black darkness
And behind closed eyes-
I hear the whips-
and see the rage
Fire is angry
It wants just as much freedom as I
And there-
I understand
In a trance-
I watch this as if it were my child
This fire is my strength
Having all the courage and the power to break free
-yet-
My body refuses to let go
To let this 'thing' called strength take over
And this wind-
it shows me
It shows me what I keep
I keep my fire-
I keep my power
Wind makes me realize-
The strength that I keep is as strong as fire
poem by Monique Hillebrecht
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The Hands.... (That Dared To Speak!)
the hands....
that cleaned the old man
lying on urine stained sheets,
that planted the bulbs
in the old woman's flower bed.
that washed the dishes
for forty years....
the hands...
that built the old barn,
that plowed the fields,
that harvested the crops....
the hands...
that stroked desire's body,
that found each secret treasure,
that closed the window.
that held the baby,
that taught the child to write,
that buttoned his suit
on the day he was married.
the hands....
that buried the body,
that brushed leaves from the grave,
that packed away pictures.
the hands....
that picked up the pen,
that turned bloodstained pages,
that dared to speak!
the hands...
now old and withered,
painfully bruised,
often clasped in prayer,
that open to take the small child's hand;
that unlock the door,
and beckon to those in need...
the hands...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Simplest Bliss
the night as backdrop
an easy chair to rest my legs
a soft pillow where my head leans
an orange glass vase
a bud of red rose
a single leaf
hushing wind from the sea
my hands on my thighs
i dream
my heart beats always
you know
for you,
far, far away
like a distant island on the
shoreless sea
how i wish my thoughts
are dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Ultimate Tenderness
In these long days
Of summery heat
Stirring passionate desire,
I could live like a modern savage
Feasting deliriously on your flesh,
Wild ceaseless kisses upon your neck,
Your lipstick mouth deliciously wet,
Your body spread open naked for me
On a clean white bed sheet,
Your soft silk-like hands
Finding my manhood,
Guiding me into lovely warm currents
Of feminine fluid
Where I can drown intoxicated
Biting your thighs
Until my mouth discovers
The ultimate tenderness.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The Nature Of Freedom
freedom is
movement, the flying of arms
the winged hands
fish fingers
we look at it from the severance point of view
the possibility of coming back
for another wholeness
is nil
it is the union with another one distinct from us
like a star to grass
like ships without anchor without any definite port to land
like meteors moving to an uncertain destination
freedom is not a wall
never a pillar
it is the wind always the wind no matter how you try to hold it
with your hands
its escape is its nature.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Am I In Or Am I Out?
beyond all your hands
i shall be another dove
when you try to enclose me
i coo,
begging, i come with a song
mistaken as pleasure
it is a philosophy of
freedom,
an entreaty that you
shall never
fully understand
for i myself is that
stranger
between a door
confused whether he is
in or
out,
when i fly away
i shall carry only my own wings
i leave my claws
and beak
and some feathers
so i may be as light
as a sigh
i need to see a door
and feel it with my hands
when i open it
how can i? my hands
have been bartered for
wings
that i always dream of.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A human body
Your
Head is not head
A computer...
Your
Eye is not eye
A camera...
Your
Ear is not ear
A cell phone...
Your
Mouth is not mouth
A wet grinder...
Your
Nose is not nose
A window...
Your
Stomach is not stomach
A Hotel...
Your
Hands is not hands
A wonder tool...
Your
Legs is not legs
A bycycle...
Your
Heart is not heart
A Rose...
With love...
With out love
A pump...
It is all
Your and your's of
Human body....
Simple Example...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Death That Perfects Me
i like the way you show your back to me
i see you and you do not see me
that is the principle of my secret.
my world changes when you face me
in your being disinterested
nothing matters
i do not wish for more,
i do not need some stars
in my heavens.
my gaze to you is enough as
i go home again
incomplete,
like two hands opening to the sky
asking for light
or even rain and nothing
comes
to fill what my palms are longing
i close my hands again to cover
my face in shame.
For i have not changed.
No matter how,
i will never change.
i am this child and
i am the father of this man.
in my old age,
i am still my own child
the child whose mouth not any milk from any mother
can satiate
it is written in the skies
my name.
It is the name of dissatisfaction
and it wants to have a body
which must be reborn
until it finds what it has been searching
where is true love?
have you found it?
if sometime i find it,
that when i kiss i am also kissed back
when my fire is burned by another fire
when all of me is a forest
and consumed by wild fire
what can i ask?
i will not ask even for a dropp of rain
or a pinch of salt
or a syllable for understanding
i have enough.
But i do not have it now.
I know what is enough.
I have long defined it
in my series of deaths.
i know when it comes,
i can recognize completely its face
when it arrives.
when i hold it, i shall die
but i shall not
ask to be born again.
for by that time,
i am rested as a stone
beside a hill
i do not wish to be rolled again
neither shall i ask
Sisyphus to put me back to that same
place on top
for by that time
i am dead and so complete.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just Beyond
And Auntie saying Don’t
Go too far so I can’t see you
And off you’d go off down
The iron stairs with the dog
In pursuit and the wind in the
Sails of your coat and the sky
Beckoning above and Auntie’s
Voice trailing away on the wind’s
Wings and you happy as the sun
In the morning sky making your
Feet rush across grass and the dog
Overtaking looking back tongue
Out of the side of its mouth and
You saying Go on you mutt run
Run and your young legs taking
You far from Auntie’s sight and
Yet looking back you know she’ll
Be there hands in the clothes
Wash scrubbing away her elbows
Wet from the plunge and you
Throwing hands to the sky and
Saying Lift me up wind take me
To the great place beyond the clouds
Of white and sky of blue with just
The mutt and five year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Hemorrhage
Hemorrhage (In My Hands)"
memories are just where you laid them
drag the waters 'till the depths give up their dead
what did you expect to find?
was there something you left behind?
don't you remember anything i said when i said
don't fall away, and leave me to myself
don't fall away and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands
love lies bleeding
oh hold me now i feel contagious
am i the only place that you've left to go
she cries her life is like
some movie black and white
dead actors faking lines
over and over and over again she cries
don't fall away, and leave me to myself
dont fall away, and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands
love lies bleeding
and i wanted
you turned away
you don't remember, but i do
you never even tried
don't fall away and leave me to myself
don't fall away and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands
love lies bleeding
song performed by by Fuel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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