Vacant Space
this is the vacant space
of my room, you may come
this is the vacant hour
you may barge and talk simply talk
this is the vacant lot of my being
you may build your home
this is vacant
fill it with space, drag your hours here,
start watering the roses in your garden
beside your house
this is a vacant hole in my ear
talk simply talk
i am always listening
this is my vacant line, please fill in the missing
word
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Vacant
This room of my love is vacant and,
It is well swept waiting for you;
So you can be affected by it when you do visit.
When the economy becomes very bad,
We all compare the prices of items before buying;
And like the wedding dresses sold around us,
But the room of my love is very vacant.
Of small sizes and big sizes,
Water me with your love is you can;
Because this room is vacant and,
I am waiting for your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Vacant Smile
A vacant smile on someone’s lips,
someone I thought I used to know
from a yesterday a long time ago.
A life I wanted with,
but remained as vacant as the smile.
A future never realised,
as the years grow old.
A vacant smile a memory perhaps
of a time long ago that has now lapsed.
7 August 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vacant And Alone
They all go into the dark
The sea lifts and falls
The moon goes on
And the vacant go into the vacant
Shelley wrote:
'Poetry lifts the veil
From the hidden beauty of the world
And makes familiar objects be
As if they were not familiar'
So I pick up my pen and write
Sometimes well, sometimes not
But always well intended
And the veil lifts
But then somethin' turns
Sometimes of a sudden
Sometimes gradually
And I go into the dark
Perhaps a song, or a word
Or a memory, or a picture
Or a dream, or a feelin'
Brings you back
And I know you are gone
And you are not comin' back
And I am vacant
And alone
poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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A Woman's Surrender
Down down there
Deep deep in the hidden recesses
There lies a little space
Vacant and welcoming…
That’s where she resides!
And when she submits herself
To him, who fills that vacant space
Willingly does she forgo
All that she once believed in
And when she submits herself
She’s not mere body
All that’s buried in the niches
Of the subconscious
Come to the fore for
A willing surrender
And when she submits herself
She willingly reduces herself
To a blissful point of death
Only to be reborn in his hands
To rebuild a life for him and her
A woman does rarely submit herself
And when she does,
Every nth part of her self
And her world is surrendered
To him, alone!
10mar2010
15.01hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like Scraped Up Dust to Save
1-2-3 and,
Put-your-dollars-in-your wallet,
And pretend its vacant paper!
Like scraped up dust to save.
And...
Put-your-dollars-in-your wallet,
And pretend its vacant paper.
To e-vap-orate like vapor.
And...
Put-your-dollars-in-your wallet,
And pretend its vacant paper.
No-longer-to-savored.
To 'trip' on treasured capers.
And...
Put-your-dollars-in-your wallet,
And pretend its vacant paper!
That's all it's worth today!
And...
Put-your-dollars-in-your wallet,
And pretend its vacant paper!
Like scraped up dust to save!
1-2-3,
Like scraped up dust to save!
And...
1-2-3,
Like scraped up dust to save!
And...
1-2-3,
Like scraped up dust to save!
And...
1-2-3,
Like scraped up dust to save!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When My Mind Is Vacant
I love it when my mind is vacant.
A feeling of no need to please,
Immediately surrounds me...
With an ease I can deal with.
There are no imposed ideals to impress.
And I feel free to care even less.
I love it when my mind is vacant.
No pressure at all I carry,
To deliver intelligent thoughts I might think.
And no one there to ask for mink!
~I just thought I'd throw that in,
To see if you were paying any attention...
To this love affair I have with self.~
Seriously...
Don't you feel good,
When you mysteriously catch people...
Minding their own business?
And you know 'something' is special about this.
So you do the best you can,
To introduce your mind to more rest.
I love it when my mind is vacant.
No pressure at all I carry,
To deliver intelligent thoughts I might think.
And no one there to ask for mink!
And I am left not to enforce those delusions on myself!
Why is my telephone ringing at this hour of the day?
'Mister Pertillar, I know you're there.
This is Robert Clarke from Clarke Collections.
We need to talk about your 'commitment to pay'.
Mister Pertillar? Mister Pertillar? I suggest you receive my call!
Mister Pertillar? This is going to have an adverse reflection,
On your credit standing!
You are going to ruin your future capabilities to get a loan.'
Shucks!
I made a commtment to stay married too.
But that didn't work out either!
Well,
Like I was saying...
I love it when my mind is vacant.
A feeling of no need to please,
Immediately surrounds me...
With an ease I can deal with.
There are no imposed ideals to impress.
And I feel free to care even less.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Refugees
In the shabby train no seat is vacant.
The child in the ripped mask
Sprawls undisturbed in the waste
Of the smashed compartment. Is their calm extravagant?
They had faces and lives like you. What was it they possessed
That they were willing to trade for this?
The dried blood sparkles along the mask
Of the child who yesterday possessed
A country welcomer than this.
Did he? All night into the waste
The train moves silently. The faces are vacant.
Have none of them found the cost extravagant?
How could they? They gave what they possessed.
Here all the purses are vacant.
And what else could satisfy the extravagant
Tears and wish of the child but this?
Impose its canceling terrible mask
On the days and faces and lives they waste?
What else are their lives but a journey to the vacant
Satisfaction of death? And the mask
They wear tonight through their waste
Is death's rehearsal. Is it really extravagant
To read in their faces: What is there we possessed
That we were unwilling to trade for this?
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Rumored to Have Hauntings
How is an understanding achieved from detachment?
Or comprehension received by one who lays in a coma?
Not saying that it can not be done.
However...
Someone with a consciousness,
Usually acknowledges an absence of comprehension.
There is a difference observed when one is between thoughts...
And one completely without them all together!
A vacant house can be rumored to have hauntings.
A vacant mind...
However,
Is not often rumored to have visitations!
That one can qualify as shared and welcomed ones.
Unless...
A séance is being conducted?
And if that's the case...
Any and everything then can be claimed,
As validation!
Even someone experiencing communication,
For the first time.
Possibilities do happen and can exist!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Alone but not lonely
I see colors reflected in my vacant eyes
Like millions who have come before me,
I am alone
The days stretch out to years and still I see only reflections
They pass like vessels upon the open sea, into and out of safe harbors
Back to the nothingness of quiet or angry clouds
I am alone
Still - no one can catch my sail,
No wind can help me ride - I am alone
And in my apathy I find peace
I hold no secret, I seek no truth
I am alone
And when I am dead and my vacant eyes reflect no more
I will still be alone
poem by Carolyn RellingSurrisi
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Beside The Idle Summer Sea
Beside the idle summer sea,
And in the vacant summer days,
Light Love came fluting down the ways,
Where you were loitering with me.
Who have not welcomed even as we,
That jocund minstrel and his lays
Beside the idle summer sea
And in the vacant summer days?
We listened, we were fancy-free;
And lo! in terror and amaze
We stood alone – alone and gaze
With an implacable memory
Beside the idle summer sea.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Insanity
Insanity is too close to us all.
It waits on all the sidelines.
No one knows if it will come to call
for most don't recognize the signs.
Brain forgetting, name forgetting,
normalcy too upsetting.
Movement strange, blinking strange,
vision starts to change.
Seeing scenes that are not there,
hearing voices everywhere.
Talking continuously all day long,
cursing words that don't belong.
Vacant stares not there before,
happening now more and more.
Insanity is too close to us all.
It's right behind a vacant door.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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As FAR AS I AM CONCERNED
I was not born
yesterday, Let me tell you that i am aware
of what i am, where i am going, what i am after of.
I do not wish to speak
for i have nothing to say
what i know of
need not be spoken anymore
it need not be known
because my words are dying
but not looking for cure.
When you ask the questions
i have long pretended that
my answers are true.
They suit you and you leave
me happy thinking that
everything is alright with me
and all of us.
Now you doubt and you
want to ask some questions
those that you have long
wanted to ask
but to please you
i always use the same
answers until you stopped
coming and asking for more.
I have no use of speech
I have found reason only
in speaking to myself
as i begin to create a friend
that i alone can trust.
This is the imagined friend
who like me does not
find talk too necessary.
I used to talk once
like a child who loves you
but you did not bother
to mind each qualm for
thirst each complaint for
hunger.
I have nothing to say
I have no prayers.
Because as far as I am concerned
I have long considered
myself finished.
When you come again
You shall know a friend of mine.
This ghost.
This emptiness that will
never fill you.
This stranger without
a traveling bag.
This silence without
a signature.
This vacant lot without
a home.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Outcast
as i see it
from page to page
it seems
that he does not like you
to write anything at all
be it prose
or poetry
minute by minute
every second
he puts the words
and on every line
there is no vacant
space for you
where do you insert
your thought? there is one space
for you
and it is outside his
big circle.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Leech
some thoughts cling sometimes
to our minds like leeches
they are hard to remove
and the more you remove them
or try to pull them and throw them away
for good
the more they stick it out with you
like a deep sorrow
like an insistent sadness like
a persistent disappointment
somehow you always take chances of
finally removing them
for you know what that means
an untimely death
a calendar that crumples the numbers
of the days of the month
you get tired finally removing them one by one
because they also multiply themselves
like leeches too tricky along the banks
of a murky river
then one day you give up
another leech lands on your toes
crawls on your feet to your belly
makes a hole there and prides itself as the new
possessor of your private territory.
you watch without feelings you let it stay
your hands caress them
and your mind rests on the comfort of more pains
like vacant chairs in a vacant room
it is you there alone without any competition.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dont Think Jesus Died For This!
wars, wars, and rumors of wars...
1 in 5 children go to bed hungry.
people still cringe at the color of skin,
and religious people crucify
anyone who thinks different.
unemployment lines not moving,
soup lines getting longer.
shutting down the battered women's shelter,
funding cut off....
food stamps dont pay light bills,
and lovers face discrimination.
the clothes you got at Goodwill,
made in an Asian sweat shop....
dumping oil in the oceans,
the price of gas rising...
and vacant houses arent for vacant people.
everyone talking, nobody listening....
somehow i dont think Jesus died for this!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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For Him I Know Not: X
this space between
these two hands
never felt empty
eversince you had
filled it with your
invisible presence
the nights are no longer
vacant and brooding
the day full of promise
with the wholesome space
occupying my being...
15jun2010
08.01hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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After Another Legal Writing
somehow
time shrinks
mind expands and there is no
vacant space for so many thoughts
but this always happens
every night when you begin
to take the pillow
you roam around the vacuum
nothing is filled.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Depression
Oh horid ways of emotions.
All actions tryed are of no use.
All actions acted are usless.
No matter the action its all in vain.
I cant go anywhere
Running is usless and of no point.
I cant go no where.
Even if the option were open.
Oh depression horrible depression
Hold me back ever more
Pin me down with the force of your grace.
Depression my one true friend.
A sad dark and lonely place.
Sit upon the walls.
Its so sad and vacant.
Vacant like my happy days.
Depression takes me
More and more each day.
Feeding on my sadness.
This is an everelasting scar
A scar not to heal
A scar not to mend.
It will bring me to my end
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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An Empty House
A house that's always empty
always feels its pain.
It's hollow and it's lifeless
and knows that it's insane
to shelter not a single soul
and hear no welcome sounds
because all of its rooms are vacant
and emptiness surrounds
its space.
A house that's always empty
wears a lonely face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Earthbound Soul
This spirit roams the vacant corridors,
searching for something that’s uppermost,
in his mind.
Disturbing the air, causing a chilly
atmosphere, strange, eerie, a ghost
of humankind.
Continuously on his quest, he has
haunted these aisles for centuries,
decades and years.
He cannot leave this sphere until he has
solved all his trials and laid to rest
his wretched fears.
Earthbound soul, no respite ever, nowhere
to go until released from torment
and despair.
How long will he have to wander hour
after hour, with discontent, in an
endless nightmare.
This spirit roams the vacant corridors,
in pursuit of another. He’s
a despiser.
Battle without end, perpetual
exploration. The other is no
compromiser.
Possessed, this apparition, floating about,
no sound, just a silent
aura of unease.
Will he still be suspended in his
no man’s land, unable to move on.
Abhorrer in crises.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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