Wailings
there are so many things that attract us
when we are alone our skin begins to nibble
we try not to be noticed, some taboos still exist
things that we think can do more harm to our hair
they had been falling like shreds of light on sunsets
when we speak we do not really pay attention to words
our eyes look beyond the garden fusing with a horizon
that marks a line between the past and present
sometimes i keep looking for the future like something
that i do not really believe that it exists
sexists, so many of them around us but we always miss
its real definition, we grapple for what we think is reality
you hint that it must not be something destructive as
unwanted fire in the other side of the room other than the kitchen
that it must be as smooth as the edge of a happy thought
as constructive as a plane that is so sharp cutting some
rough edges of the unwanted wood for the cabinet
somehow i like to write in-order to mislead you
guessing that this is the only thing that may give birth
to an interest in life, to drive you away from a disaster of sleep,
to make you skip the harsh trees along the road that draw mishaps
people do love what they fail to understand
equating it with mystery, with the selves that they want to delete
not knowing that it cannot be, because it simply can't be.
a stone no matter how extraordinary at the end
becomes the best sculpture carried by the soldiers of the emperor
to become the centerpiece of the empress' garden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Unwanted Number
You should hear the things that they say about me
Theyre saying shes no better than she needed to be
They dont know that he was kind and strong and tender
And now Ill never be another unwanted number
Unwanted number
How can I tell them?
How can I express?
How it felt to step out of this life and into his embrace
How can I tell them?
How can I explain?
All the love that I never had I found in him
There may be a stain on the family name
And if my father was here I think I know who hed blame
Mama says that he just doesnt care to remember
And all he thinks of me is another unwanted number
Unwanted number
(how can I tell her?
How can I express?
How it felt when he came to my room
And helped me to undress
What can she tell me?
How can I believe
That she really didnt hear me cry
When he wouldnt leave? )
Theres a local game where they whisper my shame
They say he gave her his child
He wouldnt give her his name
They will torture me from january till september
And soon theres going to be another unwanted number
Unwanted number
Unwanted number
And I will give my love to another unwanted number
Unwanted number
Unwanted number
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire Element
The element of fire
Constructive, destructive
The bright light of fire
The slight of fire
The all consuming fire
Does not exist
In its natural form
Exists by consuming
Another form
It transforms from one
Form to another form
Fuels our passion
Leaves everything ashen
Duels the darkness
Heaves on compassion
Fire, constructively destructive
Fire, destructively constructive
Fire, living death
Fire, dying life
poem by Ricky Baker
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4. Elements – Fire
The element of fire
Constructive, destructive
The bright light of fire
The slight of fire
The all consuming fire
Does not exist
In its natural form
Exists by consuming
Another form
It transforms from one
Form to another form
Fuels our passion
Leaves everything ashen
Duels the darkness
Heaves on compassion
Fire, constructively destructive
Fire, destructively constructive
Fire, living death
Fire, dying life
poem by Anand Dixit
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That Breakfast In Bed....
i should have known better,
you,
having seen only your name
and what you write, i have read
those lovely lines
that speak about two bodies
of fusing shadows, under the
olive trees,
i should have known better,
that breakfast in bed
does not serve my
woes any better,
shall i be Psyche all the time
and you be
the Cupid in that darkness?
i turn off the candle of trust,
to feel you, but my hands and fingers
do not know what
softness is,
from the harsh climate of the forest,
my manners have become
ten monkeys,
shall i have a nice sleep with you in bed?
you ugly gorilla
thick skin and flabby face,
foul hair and drooping eyes,
old and dying,
for in truth, the only living thing is you
is the thought between the lines
you are as distant as the horizon
as false as the
mythical pot at the foot of the rainbow.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inner Garden
*
Autumn has come to rest
In her garden
Come to paint the trees with emptiness
And no pardon
So many things have come undone
Like the leaves on the ground
And suddenly she begins to cry
But she doesnt know why
Heavy are the words that fall through the air
To burden her shoulders
Caught up in the trees
Her soliloguy,
Dont leave me alone
**
Rome now comes to sit
In her garden
Mingling the breeze with memories
Of a time when
There was a room in pale yellow hues
Her room with a view
Where love made a bed of happiness
In muslin and lace
Sweet is the voice from far away
That speaks sotto voce and
Is lingering there in the golden air
To quiet the day.
( * inner garden i, ** inner garden ii)
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0008 A Love Poem in a New Old Language
Wilfrid Chin Sue says that poetry
is about ‘about’, and thank you Wilf
for that, and thanks too from us poets all
to e.e.cummings for reminding us
that lurking in the words between
the words we give most value to
like nouns and verbs and adjectives
are the words that hint,
about the presence of the subtle
so here’s a love poem about your about
because when it comes down or up
to it, it’s all about just what’s about
you – like the scent you loved to use
which brought and brings
you into an empty room
and the things you left about
which speak of you
more subtly even than your scent
and your near… ah yes, your near…that's never far from me
and your around
that made eyes light up, with life and joy and love
and your between
which I shall not speak
(about)
and the because of our true together
which I could write (about) endlessly
because of its endless, its inexplicable,
its because
which reminds me of your beyond,
which I would not write (about) in case
I wept, or failed, or failed and wept
oh so many other, being one
but most of all
I miss your
around
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Not New Find
I often regret my being so
I decided to let bad habit go
Not to look at others faults
And not to try any tricks and offer jolts
It is not possible if you are having no means
People may try to influence you and win
They will make you to fall in their lines
Make akin to their liking and designs
I won’t buy arguments in favor
If you speak truth the relation will sour
You may pay penalty for being true
But truly speaking you got to be little untrue too
Each day may not be favorable
You may find it full of troubles
Some way has to be worked out
If not you may face worst route
You can read those fake lines
You need not choose any particular lines
The opponent knows what your aim is
It will be then his counter move to fix
Such is game in real life
It is rally an sharp age of cutting knife
You can’t take anybody for granted
You got to maintain friendship even if unwanted
No one may miss single chance
They will be in hurry to avail it at once
But one thing is set in everybody’s mind
The treachery, deception and other things are not new find
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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In My Secret Garden
In my secret garden...,
I shall present to you the things that I enjoy privately the most.
In my secret garden...,
I shall present to you the most horrible times of my life.
In my secret garden...,
I shall tell you who I love.
In my secret garden...,
I shall share with you the most happiest times I have ever known.
In my secret garden...,
I share both my political and personal opinions.
In my secret garden...,
The stories will not always rhyme or make sense at the time.
In my secret garden...,
Their will be ramblings that one will not be able to understand.
In my secret garden...,
Their will be questions unanswered.
In my secret garden...,
Grows a tree.
Only time will tell if it is truly meant be.
The flow destiny.
Riddled with flaws that cause a due pause.
A hesitation in a time of meditation.
Will it reveal a revelation?
With time as the contemplation.
I leave to you nothing but mere thoughts.
Straight from both my head and heart.
With patients as my virtue, I still might never have my true start.
A unfinished, undocumented, and incomplete works.
Even with the greatest dedication I still at times get stuck.
It is as much a mental block as rotten luck.
I've always said it comes waves.
And it does, I can't turn it on and off as I like.
It chooses when and where.
I write both in love and in despair.
Some times this leaves the dependability up in the air.
But it will not stop me from living as one lives.
To take in the moment, draw it on a canvas, and describe it as my own.
Most of the time I do this all alone.
For theirs something wrong with me.
I enjoy my silence.
I enjoy my seclusion.
I enjoy my indifference.
Wrong as it is, I think I've been hurt just too many times.
To go back and make the right friends to make a better ending.
My happily ever after has always been disaster.
And I credit no fault but to my own doing.
I will never live upon a such a lie or illusion.
I was a fool with a big heart.
And now I am a fool with no heart.
Nothing in between so it seems.
A redemption that will not be redeemed.
In many ways I have come clean.
Rid my soul of the guilt of a lot of dirty deeds.
In this I feel better no matter what is achieved.
Goals to high, and I just can never focus on one thing.
A master nothing but the emptiness I have created for myself.
Like a bed in which I have been forever in a slumber.
So many ask so much of me.
And it gets so complicated
It's like take number.
A overwhelming feeling.
I'm swamped and I'm making a little to nothing in headway.
With this my lord I pray you will take me to a different place.
One where I fit in to the common race.
An ugly uniqueness, in which I'm sure any compliments shouldn't be given.
Trying to make so many decisions.
Which ones matter the most?
Triage upon a battle field.
So many wounded soldiers.
Will I ever be able to bring them enough closure.
Just let tide take me back out to the ocean.
Float away into the unknown and uncharted waters.
Just maybe there it will be a little calmer.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Unwanted
Unwanted again even as a freind.
No use for an old useless louse.
Unwanted and blamed for your breathtaking game,
of stress and demand which I've been slightly guilty at hand.
So Tired of all this remorse and unwanted guilt.
I can't take anymore why won't someone take my life to kill.
Unwanted and uneeded for years I have pleaded for something new.
Unwanted, unwated
where or when will I find a respondendt.
To just give me a chance for a bright glorious dance.
To let me know that I'm no longer a freak show.
To have and hold so victorious and bold.
Yet forever more I shall remain Unwanted.
poem by Michael McParland
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I thought it was spring
I know Algebra
and Calculus too
and I wish for a world
where there’s only
you and I.
No other persons
to complicate things
and to tell you stories
of their perspectives
which changes like the wind.
Maybe our little zoo
should be there too
as life without children
is a miserable place.
I can calculate
and comprehend things
but cannot understand
your mind and your feelings,
but neither do you
and I thought
that I know your body
and every contour
and line of it,
but I am lost within
and without it
and I didn’t really want
to master you,
but wanted to show
to what depths
love could go
and why I failed
I do not really know
and maybe another
will have more to give
and to take
and I less mistakes to make
and now that you are gone
and I had to go away
my life just drags on
and I miss you more
than I know
how to say.
The shadows draw long
like some words
in your sad songs
and I see clouds
gathering on the horizon
and I wonder
what the new dawn brings
while the wind is filled
with leaves of this autumn
and winter is almost setting in
and I thought it was spring.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Garden of Life
A garden of life is again a garden that I desire,
It grows from a point and a line that I concoct,
The real line is here, the garden is upon us.
What can May bring towards the end of the day?
It is summer evening, gardener of the week is absent
To feel fellowship with flowers and with plants and with trees.
Why do the seasons give in? What do you do in the night?
The day felt a picture too bold for the night, which was kind,
I like it when heat has ridden past the day.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Amarelinha
Draw a pattern of
Rectangles
On the ground
And I will throw
A stone
Inside one of
The spaces
Then I hop
And hop
Avoiding this
Line and that
To retrieve
What stone I
Have thrown
In my life
Let us talk
About my life
Seriously
Now, I jump
From past
To present
To present
And past
And future in
A very confusing
Manner
And then
Time, this time
Line does not
Exist anymore
My life is that
Stone and you
Are one of those
Spaces
That rectangle
I jump in
And then we stop
This hopscotch
It is dark and we
Have to stop playing
We must go home
Now
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At Rest
my garden is silent...
and all the bees have sacrificed
their very beings to the unmarked graves
of flowers fallen.
the squirrels left the trees
like lovers spurned...
and small birds left feathers
in way of epitaph.
in some ways autumn tastes like
the bruise on my lips,
that you left the last time you kissed me,
the one no one can see!
the old car in the drive,
the one that wont crank,
moans in the rust of betrayel.
there are things i couldnt write,
or even speak for a long time.
it's funny how free you feel,
with a noose around your neck!
funny how sharp your eyes become,
on the very edge of darkness.
funny the sound tears make,
the ones we cry inside.
the creaking of the door,
that opens into unknown.
the way the hand feels,
when it throbs for touch.
by the way i saw Jesus today,
with a basket in the store...
standing in line to pay with food stamps,
talking to a bent over old woman.
and Aristotle and Plato,
picking up trash in the parking lot...
perhaps that was Rilke sweeping,
or just a stray dog.
and the young boy walking
down the road and singing....
perhaps that was my heart,
trying to remember your face!
or perhaps it's just me,
listening for the sound of your feet.
my garden is silent....
my soul is at rest!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Extraordinary
Extraordinary
The love u make 2 me its some kind of scary
I would b a fool 2 leave u 4 I was born 2 love u
This is true
Extraordinary
The way u make me feel
Im so very glad its real
And not a dream
Even though it seems I am dreaming
People try 2 break us up
Valentines a little rough
But we survived cos we had a love
Extraordinary
Id give the world 2 u
Each and every thing u do is so very nice
U make my clock tick 12 twice
Then disappear time and everything else
When u r near
Extraordinary
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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Home Is Myself
long ago
i was unwanted
grandpa
never praised me
though i worked
hard
even for
one word, perhaps
love or
even a pat on my shoulder
which i never
really had
papa i remember
bought me
a toy chopper
but that was just
once
he was not drunk
when he played with me
in the garden
when you feel unwanted
you do not
have friends
you have nothing good to say
it was early
for me to learn that
dying can be good
i never speak to anyone
about it
i only speak to myself
because i have
no choice
i love isolation
it becomes a way of life
never had a best friend
never had a circle of
friends
as a matter of consequence
i become too independent
complete in myself
and had always been
a survivor
despair is an everyday word
so i was no longer
afraid.
today people want me
call me by my name
and praise me, but
it is too late then
i do not need it anymore
when grandpa died all those near me
cried and mourned for days
i keep my usual distance
wear my tinted sunglasses
and walk myself
all alone back home
home is myself
my heart.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I know better
I know better
Than to treat you this way
I know better
Than to let the sins of yesterday
Stab me and tell me it's time to go
I know better
Than to spill the beans
I know better
That you don't know what I mean.
No longer will words be lost in translation
Nor hidden for future revelation
Nor minced in parable
Or written in gold above gold
I know better
Than to miss you
I know better
Than to question you
That you're still here
That you can bare
Whatever color your hair
I know better
Than to tell the future
I know better
Than to be sure
That you're still here
That you can bare
Whatever color your hair
I know better
What I did not know when it counted
I know better
That what everything I did amounted
To nothing when it
Could've been every bit
Worth it
God Damnit
I thought I knew better
When I wanted to Quit
I though I knew better
When I thought this was it
Not that I'd be like a rolling stone
All alone
Changing my telephone
Number of tallys on a stone
I thought I knew better
Greeting again
I thought I knew better
Remembering when
There was more than evil
More than upheaval
More than black
In my heart
I thought I knew better
As I got on the train track
I though I knew better
I'd never look back
That Midwest Town would miss me
I'd be, I was a celebrity
Everything would be Free
I was next to deity
I thought I knew better
Than to fall in love
I thought I knew better
Than to give it the shove
When it was a rough December
Night, of what I remember
The fire of the day reduces to embers
In fallacy
Finally
An excuse for me
To leave
I thought I knew better
Than to plan for the future
I thought I knew better
My past, my concern, for her
Holding back tear is my fate
Everything I am I hate
Only petty work to concetrate
On love and loss, I am a graduate
In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Some Considerations
Consider this world and also our place in it
and know that time passes by every minute.
Consider those who’re living and also the dead
and know of the ways people earn their bread.
We consider many things but few are of real importance
and know that all those which are not are in abundance.
In consideration of this what can anyone do?
but live one’s life in a way which is true.
Consider the flowers in the garden and the colours they show
and know that with tender loving care from a seed they grow.
Consider all the children somewhere and watch them play
and know that with laughter and fun most pass the day.
Consider the things which are false and those which are true
and know how each one can and does affect all that we do.
In consideration of this what can we all do?
but try and live in a way which is just true.
Consider the march of the spirit of progress and the direction we’re all going
and know that every so often we must turn around and look back knowing.
Consider that which we all know and also that which we do not
and know it’s but knowledge and ignorance that make up the lot.
Consider the beginning and that of the very end
and know it’s terrible to get there without a friend.
In consideration of this what can one do?
but go through life with a friend who’s true.
Consider about each day and then also about each night
and know that without them there’s no darkness or light.
Consider the sunshine and also the shade
and know that with them each day is made.
Consider the evening and also the time we sleep
and know that because of them the night is deep.
In consideration of this what is there to do?
but live one day at a time and remember too.
Consider that which seems right and also what appears wrong
and know that they are both attributes of the weak and strong.
Consider the past and the future and of course the present
and know that all life relates to them and is not an accident.
Consider the labour with the crops and also the extent of the field
and know that with care and nature’s help a rich harvest will yield.
In consideration of this what is there one must do?
but only the best that one can so as to get through.
Consider what people give and also what they do take
and know that between them both much trouble make.
Consider all that which brings sorrow and all that brings joy
and know that both in life are really like an inevitable decoy.
Consider the things we believe in and those worthy to fight for
and know that there are some things in life people die or kill for.
In consideration of this whatever we all say and do
should be in harmony with life which considers us too.
Consider the reality of God and the mysteries of Divine grace and love
and know that without them from certain things we couldn’t rise above.
Consider the relationships of people as that of husband and wife
and know that around them we build society and organise our life.
Consider what people need apart from their desires and obsessions
and know that of things acquired many are unnecessary possessions.
In consideration of this it’s fairly obvious to say
that most of us have a lot and give so little away.
Consider our obligations to each other and individual human rights
and know that it’s neglect and selfishness which start all the fights.
Consider the alternative to any situation we may now find ourselves in
and know that through adversity and struggle we can succeed and win.
Consider the time it takes to go somewhere and then again to return
and know that it’s the distance between them we must cover to learn.
In consideration of this we’ll need all the help we can get
and be willing to act on advice which will cause no regret.
poem by George Krokos
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Past, Present, Future
i lived in the past for so long
that the present was always unknown.
now i always look ahead at all the possibilities
and there is so much, that i now see.
a shimmer of light at the end of the tunnel
and my thoughts being poured through a funnel.
the past is the past, and that's where it will stay
and in the present, we have to find a better way.
for the present will soon be our past
and if we don't do something, it will not last.
we must always look to the future
for it is only twenty four hours away
then it will be our past
and we have so much to do and say.
when i look at life, i truely have to laugh
today is our future and tomorrow it'll be our past.
now that i have you confused as to what i am
trying to say.
i guess i will try' to put it a better way'.
we all tend to procrastinate
always leaving it for tomorrow.
but! what if you don't see tomorrow.
and today you did'nt accomplish that task
how will you be remembered
if the present you left for last.
when we leave this material world
and our souls soar up in the sky
we will still have our memories
and that we can rely.
for when we get up there(if we do)
your soul will have carried all that you did
in this life
and the memories of friends, family
husband, or wife.
now when you look down on all that you had did
and asking yourself the question.
did i use my time, the way it was
meant to be?
or did i procrastinate, that others now speak of me?
we all have to work in order to survive.
but we must stop on occasion to smell the flowers.
and to enjoy all that we was given
otherwise how can you call this living.
(my thoughts: the words and stories were given to me.
so that i could write them down, for al the world to see.)
this is my philosophy.
poem by Louis Rams
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