Unspoken 2
there are letters where some stains
still stick, like some fading drops
of water color on a very clear
sheet of perfumed paper
you have read them not just once
but over and over
for years and years
you still cry. You blame your mother
whose genes are sentimental
about some broken hearts
you check the trunk again
and open a bundle of papers
sensing those perfumed ones
a dry petal of a rose
black bold strokes of
a pen, some words that you
still want to read:
i will love you forever.
you are taken back to the time
when you were a smiling
lover beside her
along a boulevard
holding hands and talking
about sweet nothings
you hear the sound of
a boat leaving
and you see some
lights flickering
dissolving far away
from you
on a
black horizon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Black in the Water
there's black in the water
and no one can see it but me
I am the only one to blame
pouring my heart out so carelessly
there's black in the water
though it started out clear
its light turned to darkness
in the course of a year
you put in the promises
broken and never remembered
you added the hurtful words
I so silently surrendered
you discarded your lies
and when you looked back
the water, it spiraled
your mistakes turned it black
there's black in the water
the happiness will sink
but I'm used to the color
so I'm tempted to drink
my pain overcomes me,
that I always knew
but there's black in the water
still invisible to you
poem by Jade Leven
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Sunday Papers
Mother doesnt go out any more
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know about the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know about the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the sunday papers, sunday papers
Mothers wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the tvs on
Whatever moves beyond these walls
Shell know the facts when sunday comes along
If you want to know about the man gone bonkers
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know about the other suckers
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, sunday papers
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First words in a book
My first book
of this ridiculous,
that ridiculous cat, wearing the hat,
was so laid back,
dead relaxed, and smiling
in black, yes black, in that hat.
And so absurd,
spoke fantastic words,
from that cat talking in the red hat.
Said I. 'I'm lost for words.'
'No! Never! I've decided'
Said that nerd of a cat in that hat.
'Go turn that page
and we can see. Go on, turn.'
Demanded that cat with it's hat.
'Quickly now and read
and read quicker then that.'
Laughed at me this cat in that hat.
'Look how words do, they do,
they have you.'
Shouted that damn cat and in it's hat.
'And I won’t and they won’t,
these words won’t, won't ever let go.'
Barked, really, damn cat in that damn hat.
'I think you think you've got the bug
but its that bug that has you. Nothing new.
Tell the world, its old news.' Said that hat cat.
'Now you’re an addict,
meow.'
Said that smiling cat in that hat.
poem by by unknown author
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A Paper Rose
Each time pen and line
brush the page
it is with you in mind;
all these years
you've been
reader to my writer-
you and I
giving life
to what starts as
mere blank pages-
and end as
our shared experience.
I can feel you;
hear you breathing
and lay
down each
night
renewed
for you have
read
between my lines
written and
I
received
your resonances
come back
to my ear-
these reciprocities
tracking
the journey
we each
together
have taken-
our lines entwining.
No greater bond
than the bond
of reader and that written;
no love more timeless
than that shared
in the missive
shaped
by two
interchanging
in this journey
through
life's space.
No gratitude greater
than mine.
Capture here then
to be clear
the
paper rose
this writing
is
because
its lines form
a rose
which will
last
down the years
forever read
forever written.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My Rose...
gift you a rose, ,
gift you my rose....
but my rose to you, is not like any rose in this world...
a rose drunk from my tears...
a rose that i take care about it by my soul...
a rose gave it a water by my blood...
and perfumed it by my love....
my rose to you, is not like an roses...
its color not like any colors...
its not a red...
and its not a white...
even not a yellow...
its color pick up from the suns` yellow color..
and mix from the seas` blue color...
and from my bloods` drops..
and from my tears...
so.. its color was mixed with my sadness and my love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
its perfume is not like any perfume..
its a mix between a loves` nectar...
and many of kindness, and honesty love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
raised inside my heart...
and takes a warm light, from my eyes` light...
and its food, from the hope, that we always wish...
and from our future, which will gather us to each others one day...
so please accept and take my rose...
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Sweet Nothings
(r. seit)
Uh-huh honey
All right
My baby whispers in my ear
Mm, sweet nothings
He knows the things I like to hear
Mm, sweet nothings
Things he wouldnt tell nobody else
Secret, baby
I keep it to myself
Sweet nothings
We walk along hand in hand
Mm, sweet nothings
Yeah, we both understand
Mm, sweet nothings
He certainly takes
The time to read my book
My baby, give me that special look
Sweet nothings
Mm, sweet nothings
Uh-huh honey
Im sitting on my front porch
Mm, sweet nothings
Well, do I love you?
Of course
Mm, sweet nothings
Mama turned on
The front porch light
And said
Come in darling
Thats enough for tonight
Sweet nothings
Mm, sweet nothings
Sweet nothings
Mm, sweet nothings
Sweet nothings
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blame It On Me
My baby's got this set of jet black eyes
I swear that's girl's a devil in disguise
I've been let down, burned out
So let me tell you what i'm talking about
I've been chastised, deprived
She's got my skull filled with sentimental lies
[Chorus:]
She's no good for me
So I'm gonna let her free
I'm gonna let you fly
Bye, bye, so long, my sweet baby
Me, my love
Blame it on me
Me, my love
Say it was me now
Me, my love
Step back, don't jack me up now
Please, my love
Blame it on me
My girl she's got this jet-black hair
When she walks, head stops, rotate and stare
I've been let down locked out
So let me tell you what's she's all about
There's black lies, fake cries
She's got this bag filled with sentimental lies
[Chorus]
Hey I know I'm wrong
So ill go home
Make me believe
Me, my love
Blame it on me
Me, my love
Say it was me now
Me, my love
Step back, don't jack me up now
Please my love
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Confessed To You
As I read the old love letters,
you sent back to me.
The ones in which I confessed to you
how I wanted our love to be.
I told you in them
how I was sensitive to your touch,
and how I loved you so much.
It was obvious that you
did not feel for me the same way.
You never answered the letters,
but sent them unopened back to me.
Years have now passed
and I kept each and every one.
I dig them out occasionally
and have a good read through,
and then I sit down
and read them to you.
When I wrote them,
there was one thing I did not know.
You could not have read
the letters even if you wanted to.
You were blind and I did not know,
but that never stopped our love.
Now as we grow older together
with each passing day.
Our love grows a little stronger
in lots of different ways.
Those faded old love letters
we keep, as our reminder
love has no bounds.
4 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 16 The open book's monologue
Red what is it to you black the color of death? maybe maybe not? anyone here play video games? FOR CHAOS? ring any bells help spread the taint more quickly? what might an open book write
what would a open book draw
what would an open book think
open books are predictable
so predict what the picture means
why is black black? why is red O infused? what is the meaning only you know maybe only me...
(added years later)
Maybe I'm the book, and maybe you're the reader
but who is you? is it not everyone
since I'm open, for all to point at laugh at, out of malice or for fun
because they know my thoughts, they know i love her? !
what did i do?
i never said i love you! ! !
how can they know?
how did i reap what i did now sow? !
The worst part
about being an open book,
is an open book can't close itself, can't have a heart
anyone can know all from just one look
there seems to be something wrong with being too open and honest
but it's too late a book can't close itself
can't move by its own accord to a shelf
an open book can never rest
so now I'm the book, so since im there just read
just read.... and watch my heart, my purpose, my soul, my life, me
watch.... watch them bleed
poem by David Knox
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The Wicked Postman
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Seduction: Perfumed Lanes
Walking through
my fathers' garden
lilacs in bloom
the walk-way
perfumed;
drugged
my senses.
I surrendered
as you
spoke
of plans and dreams;
I felt content
to be there doing
nothing but being there
talking with and listening to you.
The sound of your voice
is soothing to me.
You used it to love to me,
without evening knowing.
It taffized my heart.
Your mouth;
meserized me
the way our lips moved.
it all flowed-
pouring out over me like a gentle water fall
splashing down to my Soul Pool.
And I allowed it all to fill me up
in the walk-way
on the perfumed lane
in the auburitum
while the birds sang
as I took in those sweet breaths
of Jasmine and Lilac
of flower-petal hearts beating
you washed over me
and I let you.
I flowed over you
and you let me
I allowed them
to over-brim and fulfill me;
my scarf
gentle-stroked the summer breeze
fluttered gently
and I said yes, again and again.
You seduced me.
And I you,
we both swaying
in the
lilac breezes.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Chronicles of a Criss Crossed and Broken Heart part 3 Paper to ink, , , ink to memories... memories to...wind
...scribble... paper stained the color black
front and back
imprinting in my mind
yet none else may see, none can find
the meaning, for they cannot read
this the way i do and therefore no one takes heed
hear me out!
must i shout? !
warning....warning danger near
warning... I'm trouble my dear
danger its here!
why won't you run
its like burning for 40 hours in hot sun
dont stay
get away i dont want to hurt you i want you but get away...
please just leave me be
its better for you and me
that we never indulge in causerie
these words 'friend love' and 'friendship'
burned into my head
staying with me until i am dead always here until im dead
these thoughts of pain stick with me
in the darkness of mind and memory
o so cruelly
they eat at me
but this pain
even when life begins wain
no one can see just whats happening to me
i must try and let go, put my memories away
but i must be careful not to slip away
with them going into a state of craziness
i cnat lose myself to the wind no never not going to happen
so inviting so cool at touch so tingly at every touch
no this is not too much
i just gotta hold on as i blow away
words burning into my head
ink splatters all over my dead
body this zombie corpse, quite a scene no blood just black ink stain
i think and think writing black words
pain and wain and sustain just more stains...
farther inot the black handwriting useless myself useless too much black ink
no more ink this poem this messed up rhyme
never was..
poem by David Knox
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Am A Rose In Your Garden
A sun ray tickled to my face this morning,
Waking me up from sleep,
I straighten up my stalk and look toward the sun,
And shake off the fresh dew out from my face,
So i can take deep breath and have a new beginning.
But suddenly i'm seeing my reflection in dew drops around
And i am so amazed
'Who am i? ', i asked to myself
I am a rose, with velvet petals,
I am so delicate, perfumed and red
All other roses start looking at me
'Who are you really', they asking me
'You are so beautiful, what you are doing here
Among all these thorns and weeds?
Here, you dont belong '
I am so confused
Why i'm here?
Why i'm alone?
Who's taking care of me?
And suddenly you show up,
You are so handsome and looking at me with love,
I am looking at you and melting in your eyes
Your face is moving slowly down to me,
And look to me so deeply.
Drops of your tears is falling on my petals
Seeing me, you are so happy
So do i, feeling your love
You made my heart beat faster, stronger
Even i dont need water
I am feeding with your love.
Dont leave me, stay with me,
I need your love to live,
Protect me, nurture me with your lovely words.
Enjoy my perfumed petals
And reward me with a smile
Do not forget me ever,
I am a rose in your garden.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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A Black Rose
A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart
A black rose bring the scent of death as it tears love apart
A black rose makes nightmares relity
A black rose fills my life with unsertanty
A black rose is forgoten hopes and dream
A black rose is a broken man laying in tears and painful screams
A black rose is the pain of a widowed wife
A black rose is lost love in my hopless life
A black rose is the memorys that haunt my restless soul
A black rose took everthing from me that once made me whole
poem by Glenn McGahan
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A Black Rose
A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart…
A black rose brings the scent of death as it tears love apart…
A black rose makes nightmares reality…
A black rose fills my life with uncertainty…
A black rose is forgotten hopes and dreams…
A black rose is a broken girl laying in tears and painful screams…
A black rose is the pain of a shattered life…
A black rose is lost love in my hopeless life…
A black rose is the memories that haunt my restless soul…
A black rose took everything from me that once made me whole…
Including…you…
Daily
you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid
you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen
you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping
they call it life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Occupation
Leaving the stains behind
I am moving to a new home
O mother
to wear the sun.
The black moon
had been stalking me for years
O mother
for a pink romance lifting the clouds.
Though, I will not come back
ever, in the valley of skins
O mother
yet I will remember your beloved night.
Nebulous was the transit
to sleep without beds.
O mother
How long these protests will continue?
poem by Satish Verma
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The BLACK ROSE
I've kissed the petal of the black rose as the morning dew blushed its black hue. I felt a passion beyond anything I knew, a flame, a fire, a burning desire for the black rose its petals to unfold, its beauty to behold. Your Love had me entangled upon your vine I dangled, Chained to the black rose petals I wrangled. Upon your bed in the early dew I found a colored rose petal, another heart that throbbed for you a flame that burned now an amber. Who too had thought you true and kissed the black rose petals blushing hue. Those barbed thorns upon your vine; so sharp; the lies, the deceit, the cheat; they cut, tear, bleed and don't prepare for the hurt they leave. Bold and daunting were you in your haunting. I wanted love but it was my soul you stole. In the ice cold blight of the winter night the black rose had froze. I cried, in the glistening icy snow; for the black rose had no heart to with stand the blight of that winter night. What it had was a cold heart with sharp thorns to enfold, the last cold kiss of death on the black rose shows I have no love to share or hold.
poem by Vanita Allgood
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Benediction
Read this poem only aloud
read it as slowly and with such solemn dignity
as if it were the whole great human race
declaring itself to be truly great
read it as if it were
as indeed it is
not words but a great sounding bell
and you are that great bell
so large a bell so low its boom
that it is more vibration than a sound
struck in a temple courtyard
by a robed monk so full of love
that he merges into love itself
every time he sounds the bell
and as its sound now travels up
into the clear mountain air
the goatherds and the goats hear in its sound
the meaning of their life
and in the fields the workers raise themselves
and know what blessing is
and in the valley the silence after each stroke
becomes more real
as the echo fades
and the air knows itself
this poem is the sound of the human heart
listening to itself beyond all words
hearing praise and gratitude and love
knowing themselves in stillness for what they are
this poem is what is beyond all words
smiling sorrowing as it seeks for words
as it vibrates out into the silence
the wonder of the unspoken
the magic of all that’s yet unmanifest
the thoughts yet to be thought
hear in this bell the sound that tells to all
that there is enough love
in one single human heart
to nourish the whole world
hear this bell sounding aloud
sound out eternal in your soul
* * *
[work in progress]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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