We Are Here, And That Is Good Enough For Us...
i never have an inkling
to sit beside the greatness of a
Maya, a Langstone, a Pablo
or Robert
i am but a simple blogger
in this age
of facebook and twitter
and email encounters
let me get it straight
fame is not my cup of tea
all i need is just to be me.
it is all about loneliness
all about arriving home with no one to talk to
or taking your dinner alone
under the light of a bulb
and the chatter of TV series
it is not about romance even
there is none
it is the other side of reading books
and dog-earing a page
because your eyes are tired
and you need sleep because tomorrow
is another routine, of a walk to the office
filling up forms, disrobing yourself of
the excitement of earthly existence
lunch, and the quiet of officer dividers
and taking naps like cats
evenings without meanings
blankets without human warmth
pillows like clear consciences
guilt like fecal matter flushed
on the morning bowl
we all live this way
we do not complain because there are no solutions in sight
we do not work for a fulfillment
we work to pay our bills and be just like the rest of this
wave of humanity
arriving and leaving like foams of sea on the shore
then like you, we write, poems or non-poems
we keep holding to words, hoping that there is a cure
to this paper existentialism
we write for nothing at all
we know we are duped by websites that earn money for themselves
we do not care
we are passionate, we contribute the success of others
we make them happy, we do not count how much feeling have we
invested
we do not know, much less do we really care to know.
we're here, playing our noise, we do not crave for responses
we exist, we make you feel that we exist.
who knows? we are not alone, we also have the rest
wave upon wave, sunset upon sunset, all the days of our lives
till we die, and this page shall be blank, and then we are
deleted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A Blank Page Blues
I know we have all done it,
sat in front of a pristine white sheet of paper
and got ready to write something down,
and then we are confronted
with the blank page blues.
The words of inspiration
then scurry and hide away.
You are left with pen in hand,
scratching your head
wondering what to say.
There is no cure for this syndrome;
writers get it all the time.
Some call it a writer’s block,
when nothing comes into your head.
You sit in front of a blank page.
You know what you want to write,
then someone disturbs you
and the words disappear out of sight.
How many times have we had that?
We sit down to write our masterpiece
and the telephone rings,
or someone shouts your dinner is getting cold.
You feel like screaming,
but you take it on the chin.
You lay down your pen,
answer the phone or have your dinner,
and when you come back,
the blank page confronts you.
Still you cannot write anything on it.
You stare at it for hours,
until finally you get tired
and journey off to bed.
Hoping and hoping tomorrow
a little peace, it will bring
and your words on that blank page
will really begin to sing.
10 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Like the Sea
wave upon wave
i arrive
at the shore of my
being
unconsumed
unfinished
wave upon wave
i lick the
shore
always arriving
at a home
that is never mine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem That Makes You Alive
from the office the paper works pile up
like a mountain where you walk only a few steps
where it is so steep
and you want to rest on the grass because you feel like
you are dying in a minute
and they understand why sometimes you have to stop
and get some air from the window facing the sea
when you go home for lunch
with your wife
your shoulder hangs a little bit down
like a hanging plant from a branch of an old tree
your eyes are drooping
and you lose your appetite
not the food but for life itself
you have been doing things by compulsion
this bread and butter thing
this normal course
this work that is dictated upon us
society moves like a clockwork
office like a jail
the world like a cell to you
you keep your computer open
after lunch you sit in front of it again
punch the letters and tell the screen
this is my life
this could have been my work
writing poems, this poem and the rest of the poems
this makes you alive
without milk without the cradle without the bottle
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gasp
Yesterday, i gasped at the sunset
in a newness of awe
i never before experienced;
that which seemingly occurred
the day before, the yesterday,
reiterated the today in such a special way
i gasped
Moved in a fresh new feeling
thrilled in an awesome new way
as if the yesterdays and days before that
never even happened
And maybe they did,
or did not;
but each
carrying it very own sunset;
not like the same window
closed and then reopened,
not like wave washed to shore
and returning
No, like a new wave formed
from the record of waves before
which embedded their rhymes
on an unsuspecting shore
Vibrations fossiled in the unseemliness
of repeating patterns, yet
each one hiding additions and deletions
introductions and curios
nuances and semblances
That's the sunset of yesterday
the sunset of yesterday not the sunset of
days gone or days stll to become
that sunset of yesterday, when
i gasped
2010
poem by Gillena Cox
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare
AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE
An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-
Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-
Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.
There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Good to write poems
I want everyone in theworld
To write poems
Poems is the best to happy writing
Anger sad and pain
Which you write it in poems
Heal faster and better
Than any medicine in theworld
Because I know I write
In anger sad pain and much joy
Romance exotic and love
Society reality and life
Religion GOD and fantasia
I write what I feel and heard
Peaceful within, no more hurt or sad
Anger all to happiness and
Forgiveness you find
Solution you get
The joy the fulfillment
The happy feeling and heal
I can’t felt it until each poem I write
poem by See Fee Lee
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We Live Poems We Cannot Write
WE LIVE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE
We live poems we cannot write-
Words of beauty that sometimes come suddenly
And disappear before we think to transcribe them-
Indescribable perceptions that move rapidly within us
And are gone before we can even be fully conscious of them-
We live poems we cannot write
Worlds of feeling there are no words for-
Our lives are pervaded by unwritten poetry
And our strongest Will and most determined Memory
cannot make pages of it all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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For The Rest Of My Life
for the rest of my life
i will take the same routine
home, office, school,
home office, school,
a straight life confined
in a certain space
too confined and too
tight for my soul
and too boring
for my body
home, office, school,
school, home, office,
you ask me if there is
something wrong with
my life? there is nothing
right in it, everything has
always been wrong
and everyday has always
been an attempt to correct
it, but nothing
nothing has fit into it
to cut the routine to
break me from the
chains of everyday
nothing comes and nothing
goes, i think, that is how
it is meant to be,
i think, i simply have
to imagine, make some
figments of stars, and moon
and sun and mountains
and seas and valleys
and castles and princesses
and kings and queens
and too they become routine
too, some poems and stories
some people that do not
actually exist, some imaginary
earth, imaginary creatures
they are all here, in this routine
of imaginations, of poetics
of illusions and allusions,
these lines, my life, these routine
and all my excuses, you and I.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Am My Poem
When you see me,
you see my poems.
For when i breath, i breath out ballads.
But vers libre express my heart.
Should i write in complicated
and rhythmic words to make
my poems deep and beautiful?
My life is complicated already.
Should i write in simple and
enticing words to make
my poems attractive?
My life is not that simple.
Like stream to the river
down to the sea,
so is my poems from my
soul to my spirit down to my body.
You may disapprove me
but come and take a walk
within my soul and see if
you can live there for a moment.
So when i write, must i
invite you to read.
Read if you want to.
I write because the chamber
of soul finds relieve.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Facebooking
had the chance of meeting Kaye
still at the agriculture department
no promotion yet happy
nothing new really except
this meeting
me too, nothing new, except
this conversation
of who what where when
then we stop
as it is time to go
the office closes at five pm
and we have to find
our way home
it will be dark
and there will be dinner with the family
then we watch tv
after being tired we turn it off
sleep
then dream and then we wake up
early the next morning
back to work
such routine such boredom
yet we still like to live more days
this is life perhaps
nothing new except
the meetings of old friends
then back to work again
i know you are bored reading this
precisely, precisely, now you must feel the same too
at least
in this boring poem
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Takin' Care Of Business
You get up every morning
From your alarm clock's warning
Take the 8:15 into the city
There's a whistle up above
And people pushin', people shovin'
And the girls who try to look pretty
And if your train's on time
You can get to work by nine
And start your slaving job to get your pay
If you ever get annoyed
Look at me I'm self-employed
I love to work at nothing all day
And I'll be...
Taking care of business every day
Taking care of business every way
I've been taking care of business, it's all mine
Taking care of business and working overtime
Work out
--- Instrumental ---
If it were easy as fishin'
You could be a musician
If you could make sounds loud or mellow
Get a second-hand guitar
Chances are you'll go far
If you get in with the right bunch of fellows
People see you having fun
Just a-lying in the sun
Tell them that you like it this way
It's the work that we avoid
And we're all self-employed
We love to work at nothing all day
And we be...
Taking care of business every day
Taking care of business every way
I've been taking care of business, it's all mine
Taking care of business and working overtime
--- Instrumental ---
And we be...
Taking care of business every day
Taking care of business every way
I've been taking care of business, it's all mine
Taking care of business and working overtime
--- Instrumentall to fade ---
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The time I discovered myself a Poet
I wouldnt say I was patient
but I have an interest in poetry
Is it the dawning of a new error
or will the sky be grey
I write how I see life and it is not always pleasant
I like to write abou experiences that I have been through
my poetry has changed as I ave changed
I see it as a hobby as I write in my grange
My poetry is mainly fiction but I also write about things that are true
I am not a person that would share alot of enthusiasim
poetry is a work of art
on each sheet of blank paper
I put my mark
Poetry is simple in this world of sin
I am not into shakesphere
what I write is authentic
the imagination on paper creates magic
a poem can change an atmosphere
I would like to say my poems mean something
my poems are meant to sting a mind
I want my poems to create pictures for people who are blind
poem by Natasha Browne
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My Daily Bread
you do not believe when i tell you that i write everyday
it is routine to me
so my poems
are like
breathings
inhale
exhale
a poem
here a poem there
writing has become like a beating of my heart
so every beat
every pulse
is a poem made
like one kind of a factory
mass production
of breathing and beating
i have developed sort of too much familiarity with this kind of poetic activity and it has become so
so ordinary
and so much familiarity comes my contempt for my daily poetry
it is nothing extraordinary
it is like washing my face
brushing my teeth
cutting my nails
going to the office
teaching my class
reading books
walking the dog
taking a morning walk
lunch with my wife
listening to
lawyers argue
their cases
in court
all these are so ordinary
routinely clockwork
and they are nothing
they are
my poems
my daily bread.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Work To Do
I'm taking care of business, baby can't you see
I gotta make it for you, and I gotta make it for me
Sometimes it may seem girl I'm neglecting you
I'd love to spend more time
But I got so many things to do
Ooh, I got work to do, I got work baby
I got a job yeah I got work to do,
said I got work to do
Oh I'm out here trying to make it, baby can't you see
It takes a lot of money to make, it let's talk truthfully
So keep your love light burning
And a little food hot in my plate
You might as well get used to me coming home a little late, oh
Ooh, I got work to do, I got work baby
I got a job, yeah I got work to do
I got work to do, everybody's got work to do
I'm taking care of business baby can't you see
I gotta make it for you,I gotta make it for me
Don't wanna make you feel I'm neglecting you
I'd love to spend more time, oh
But I got so many things to do
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poems I've Considered Writing..All Thanks to You..
It seems I'm writing more
Than I have for quite some time..
It's not always good writing
Sometimes It's just a matter of getting out my emotions on paper
Though they say you shouldn't put everything on paper
But,
That wouldn't make me much of a writer then, would it..
I don't do it on purpose..
To be honest,
I can't really help it..
And,
When I contemplate some of the poems I've thought of writing
Since our acquaintance
Well,
Some of the following titles spring to mind..
'This should be interesting'
'I wonder how I'll ever get on in this place'
'I hope I make a good enough impression'
But, then, that's not specific to you, is it..
I'm always worried about making a good impression, doing a good job, working on bettering me...worried about what others may or may not think
I'm not in competition with anyone but myself and sometimes I think that's
Tougher than competing with someone else..
'Ummmm...I don't know what to think'
'Someone thinks highly of themselves'
This would have been about you by the way..
I guess first impressions aren't always accurate
'I think I can trust you'
'Maybe I've made a friend'
'Why did that feel like a date'
'What's wrong with me'
'Something to look forward to'
'Saying Goodbye'
'Hello Again'
'I like having you as my friend'
'Someone to talk to'
'That's...Not..What..! ! ! '
Because sometimes I feel like I can read your mind..
And,
It's not always on it's best behavior, is it..
I hope that doesn't change... it makes me smile.
'I Have to Admit, You're Kind-a Sweet'
'Nooooo! ! ! '
This would have been a funny poem..As would,
'Do you mean what you say, when you say what you say'
But, then.. I think..
'Maybe it's all in my head'
Let's face it.. I am known to think too much, too often, all the time...
It's a minor glitch with my mind...
Then, there was the minor incident where..
'Being Forced to Face That I'm Feeling....Something'
But, that's just hard for me to do..so,
'Bury it, Pretend it Doesn't Exist'
Or
'We Aren't Going to Talk About the Elephant in the Room'
Were poems that were quite appropriate to write..
I didn't write them..
Well, not quite that way..
Some others would have been,
'Uneasy with My Feelings'
'I Wonder What You Really Think of Me'
'Too Bad I Can't Read Minds'
'I'd love to know what your first impression of me was...does it still hold true'
I don't know if you have read my work..
I sometimes think it's you..
But, I figure there's no way for me to know
Unless you give me a clue..
And, maybe you have
But, subtleties are lost on me
Especially when it comes to you..
So I write..
Or contemplate writing poems..
With funny titles
Titles that don't always mean what they say
Or say how I feel
Or are specific to you...
Because writers write..
It's what they do
But, sometimes
My Poems
Might be
Just for you...
poem by Rabia Minhas
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My Heart... So Blue
Ive got her picture
Its there on the wall
I cant remember why
I keep it at all
The doors are cold and
All the windows seem grey
I write the book
Theres so much more I should say
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
And now its over
I write it all down
No one to notice
One less face in the crowd
Our eyes are open
When it suits us to say
Dear God in heaven
Show no mercy to me
Wave (wave) goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave (wave) goodbye
Lost for you
I shed no tears
And theres no reason for shame
A small consolation
Hides a stone with her name
Just a victim
Still the light shines all bright
Ive got her picture
Think Ill hold it tonight
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave (wave) goodbye
See my heart...so blue
Wave (wave) goodbye
Lost for you
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's Not Easy Being The Love Poet
'The Love Poet' that's what they call me
I admit it's flattering being the one and only
Other poets write love poems I will concede
But none with the emotion of mine, none indeed
But being the love poet has it's price
Everyone expects my work to be happy, be nice
If I ever feel lousy I can't write it down
Because reading it might cause the audience to frown
I'm not always Happy Harry I will admit
Every now and the, I really feel like shit
Depression a remnant of the life I left behind
Has found me again and has it's grip on my mind
But sad or not, I've a reputation to uphold
I write poetry that's warm and not cold
Push depression aside begin a new love poem
2nd draft I write on my way home
Every now and then, I will read a sad one
Which leads to another, what have I begun?
I want to make people smile not cry
And here I am reading qbout how I want to die
Even love poets have their bad days
Finding out today was the end of always
Without her, love poems just don't seem right
Neighbors hear you crying, long into the night
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written
THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN
There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.
Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.
When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.
How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.
How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.
It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Vow 2 (Right Words)
I've always been able to
now I don't even know what to do
it's never been a problem before
I've always been able to write about it
talk about it, now that it hit me
I'm somewhat speechless
I put pad to pen, nothing
an empty space on a white page
shouldn't this just write itself?
not a word or a single letter
I know it hit me, I feel it
it hurts yet I like it,
I smile at the sight of it
I've spent days and still on a blank page
it's stupid to say, but I give up
a pen is in rage to silence
to express this, these feelings
no words could describe
nor will I try
the only thing I can say for certain
that it is real, I Love you
this I vow.
poem by Kelvin Owusu
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