We Were Their Makers...
and then i told them the
truth of this and that
and they will not believe
that we
who have taught them
what life is
and how it should be spent
that they have to be somewhere else
beyond the limits
of themselves
shall simply remain
on the chairs beside the
table outdoor
sipping the usual
hot green tea
amidst the cold mist
of morning
not being ever tired
of watching the
last stars to
disappear having
shone so well last
night
when we were so silent
and simply
being sensitive
and carefully
watchful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
When I Wake This Morning
last night i had
a single pill of 'x'
you know what
it is
do not make any
pretensions
it did not obstruct
a word
it slipped right though
smooth and easy
and then
the usual things happen
i am into this garden
they call Eden
and there is this Eve
and the apple
and of course the snake
i still doubt whether
i was God or
i was simply
the sinful Adam
when i wake up this
morning
my body was as heavy
as the Titanic
which as you well know
sank.
my mouth is sewed
with invisible thread
and i can feel
the pain in my lips
my teeth are imprisoned
soldiers
i want to eat some of
my words for
breakfast
but i cannot.
you see? this happens
sometimes
and so what we can do
is simply sit on one
of the chairs drenched
by last night's rain
at the porch
and just be silent.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A reversible trend
you are reversing the cycle
it is clearly written i bible
no one is moving from stand
we only misguide and understand
why do we think more and sink?
we spent energy unnecessarily and think
where is need to raise noise or bark?
why start at night should shine or spark?
life is as tidy as dawn
where morning star sparks and blink
after all the midnight storm
sun welcomes the morning warm......
Moon and stars to provide calm and cool
nights to be spent by poets and fools
midnight storm may rise and subside
the happiness and joy may permanently reside
All worries are over by rising sun
we walk up early and make run
life is to be spent with worry or fun
life is with risk at the point of gun
we may go as usual in our way
the realities may be far away
we simply draw the conclusion
rest everything stays as big question
life is to lived as such
there is nothing left as much
I draw the lines and enjoy
there enough to see with joy
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Darkness Of Our Souls
In the darkness of our Souls
We simply disappear Like
Vaporized Mist
We listen to
Our flesh torn apart
We let our nerves Break
We simply do not care
Where the breeze is going
We surrender
Totally defeated
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nothing's Changed...
this afternoon i was driving my car
back home. And i was thinking something
that may change my life
totally.
i wish i can tell you since you are part of the
picture. Your face is a painting of so many words.
Life with you has been tinted. The colors simply
disappear at the first sigh of the coming of my night.
sometimes, i stop the car along the shore
and there is little hut there where i can rest and sit for a moment.
as usual it is the sea that keeps on talking.
there are so many reasons, so many
why i do not have to tell you about this.
and then i drive my car back home and meet you.
another beginning
of another life, and as usual the conclusion is that
nothing must be changed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dark Contemplation
"Contemplation cannot be taught. It cannot even be clearly explained. It can only be hinted at, suggested, pointed to, symbolized." Thomas Merton. New Seeds of Contemplation
Through seasons of pleasure
and months of pain,
morning birds calling;
night's howling trains
oh, fall into dream's
cold silent folds
where unyielding truth
nightly is told.
The morning star's rising
through night's fading lace.
Soon sun will be glaring;
truth without grace.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To My Peer In Philosophy Class Circa 1979
i mark that day
with the ending part of our
conversation:
it has
something to do with the
face of the criminal who
bugged you with
a silver knife at the subway
station and you were so shocked
and could not forget it
your money taken
and then you came to the
irrevocable
conclusion that
humanity is divided and that
some are simply of the
irredeemable kind
and must be put to sit
on electric chairs
for good
and i ask you to look
carefully at his face
at that time
when he was mad and
so needy
and find finally that he
too wears
the same face as yours
when you shall be
deprived of what you own and
have and keep and protect
for now
you are enjoying the world
that loves you
you are eating the expensive cuisine
on its table and
drinking the best wine from Italy
and staying at the Shanghai
hotel with a window facing
the Bund
savoring the beautiful
motion and lights of the river
look at him carefully
did you not see that he
has the face of God?
and then we stopped
right there
and you did not say a word
which i think
was the proper face of silence
of one who cannot
believe the truth
and i have never heard
from you again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Morningside
Written by: neil diamond
Morningside
The old man died
And no one cried
They simply turned away
And when he died
He left a table made of nails and pride
And with his hands he carved these words inside
For my children
Morning light
Morning bright
I spent the night
With dreams that make you weep
Morning time
Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine
For I recall the words the old man signed
For my children
And the legs were shaped with his hands
And the top made of oaken wood
And the children sat around this table
Touched with their laughter
Ah, and that was good
Morningside
An old man died
And no one cried
He surely died alone
And truth is sad
For not a child would claim the gift he had
The words he carved became his epitath
For my children
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Where Do We Go From Here?
after 70 years
of so much planning
nothing exciting
really happened in
his life,
he concludes everything
is wrong
because he is actively doing
everything
for him
he did not give fate a chance
to shape his own life
it is life that takes us
where to go
and life is a silent friend
it does not tell us
anything
we simply wait
for the surprises
a boat may arrive from a far horizon
and waits upon us at the nearby pier
we shall step inside its body
& it will take us
to a place
intended for our own good
a black bird my hover on the window sill of our house
and sings
and we who listen to the sweetness of its song
shall learn
about the most beautiful thing that can happen
out there
the next day shall be another adventure and fun
for we are life's children
and she is our loving mother
we simply have to open our eyes
alert our ears
and be sensitive to each and every sign
that life
everyday sends us
we simply must enhance the trust
and surely it will be good
and beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Individuality
i am always a shade of something else
a background for instance
am i not a part of it? i am.
in the dark, i am black
so what do you see? just darkness
how can i be a ghost? a mist?
a white fog amidst the sea of darkness
a soul floating in cold air
you will be afraid for what you will see
so i am but a black shadow
blending with the night
you see nothing
but i shall speak in the comfort of your sleep
during the day
i assume the shape of a body
settle on the mind
live on the plain and the green grass
take the shade of the big tree
and wade myself on the shallow waters
we will be there
enjoying the conversation
sipping tea
and watching the seagulls
we shall take the beauty
in the most ordinary ways we can
spectators and distant from the touch
of pain and too careful about desire
you see? how can we be hurt
an island to an island
between us the ocean
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Reality Of These All
at night she tiptoes to the doors of
our waking thoughts
we are amazed at the images of light
eaten by the mouth of darkness
the Muse stares at the interplay of
good and evil
there is simply no word for who shall win
and then we are tired
our eyes begin to fail and our body gives in
buried in the darkness of the night
then we are taken in the world of dreams
where everything becomes possible
what we were not in those waking days
the dreams hand them all
broken hearts mended
fortunes flow
luck is abundant as the fish in the oceans
there is a crowd of success and bliss
but you know the limits of all these
soundless worlds
and those who refuse to wake up
simply die.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Stars Remain
When our lives are over
and our mortal being
has withered to dust.
When our remains are scattered
amongst the prevailing wind,
the stars will remain
to guide those who follow
in our footsteps through time.
The stars will remain
embedded in the velvet night.
Millions and millions of them
up where we perceive
heaven somewhere lies.
We are told all of us have one,
a star that will always remain to shine bright.
A star to guide the lost
on a cold and lonely night,
a star to look down
on all creation
for as long as it survives.
The stars will remain
no matter what we do.
They remain there forever
embedded in the velvet night.
9 December 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Watching Me Fall
I've been watching me fall for it seems like years
Watching me grow small, i watch me disappear
Slipping out my ordinary world, out my ordinary eyes
Yeah slipping out the ordinary me into someone else's life
Into someone else's life...
There's a thin white cold new moon and the snow is coming down
And the neon bright tokyo lights flicker through the crowd
I've been drifting around for hours and i'm lost and i'm tired
When a whisper in my ear insatiable breathes
"why don't you follow me inside?..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her hair is black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
Is always young... always young
The night is always young...
Yeah i've been seeing them strip to the bone in the mirror on the wall
Seeing her swallow him whole like it's not me at all
She holds out her hands and i follow her down to my knees
And the sucking inside insatiable smiles
"you will forget yourself in me..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her eyes are black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
And the night goes on and on
And the night is always young
And the night is never over and over and over and over and over...
And this it's gone
And this it's gone
Yeah then it's gone
Yeah it's a cruel mean cold new day and outside the snow is still coming down
And in the blood red tokyo bed i watch me coming round
She pulled him down for hours
Deeper than i've ever been
And as i fall in the mirror on the wall
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
Yeah i've been watching me go for it must be years
Watching me get slow, i watch me disappear
And one day, yeah i know, i won't come back at all...
And always over and over in his ordinary eyes
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Silence Of The Morning...
in the land of truth,
no one writes and no
one reads,
one simply knows where
love makes its own fire,
one simply knows where
the spirits meet,
the words are not experts
eyes become closed to these
glories, morning light
shy cheeks, pale lips.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Recollection Of November
The cool November pavement
And the soft glow of your smile
Amidst the gentle night
The others are doing the same
Wrapped in each others arms
In the moonlight
But the warmth
Of their semi-numbed fingers
Simply cannot compare—
They merely disappear
As you melt into me
And say those three words
Sealed with a kiss
As if to whisper
'This is only the beginning'
Ephemeral
A red hibiscus that blooms
In the morning
Closes, wilts, in the afternoon,
You expect another one of its kind tomorrow,
A china rose,
Your night life,
At the outdoor café, sitting on light fabricated
Silver chairs, sipping tea, puffing smoke, sipping
Margarita, gazing
Slight stolen looks
At young handsome
Men rated per hour,
It is your policy of giving false names and wrong address,
They know
What you are doing,
They understand
Your needs & wants
For a fleeting night
A cure for an itch
Momentary piecemeal pleasures,
Allusions about a broken love of what used to be,
Illusions of what you could have been,
Momentary
Thoughts, momentary projections, when you make love with your catch, as you puff your smoke to
Confuse the ceiling with your gaze of momentary
Emptiness,
You are the first one
To leave, after paying the bills,
They always pretend asleep,
While naked,
As you leave his due on the side table,
You go home on shriveled hair,
Driving a red car,
Smokeless to the road,
Your celfon rings,
Your son in his father’s house calls
“Mommy, I want to go home”
“I am driving, ’ you call him,
A flash of momentary happiness,
A momentary sadness,
Flip-flopping to your mind,
What are these really, these that meet your gaze for something that should have been permanent,
That red hibiscus, that blooms only for a day,
Is ephemeral,
Like stolen nights,
Like the way your child calls you, because father is always away,
“I am in Cebu for a week”, said many times over and over again,
Her stint for a night is ephemeral,
Electronic calls are ephemeral,
A happy home, her dream, was sort of, kinda like red hibiscus
Ephemeral too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Six
A red hibiscus that blooms
In the morning
Closes, wilts, in the afternoon,
You expect another one of its kind tomorrow,
A china rose,
Your night life,
At the outdoor café, sitting on light fabricated
Silver chairs, sipping tea, puffing smoke, sipping
Margarita, gazing
Slight stolen looks
At young handsome
Men rated per hour,
It is your policy of giving false names and wrong address,
They know
What you are doing,
They understand
Your needs & wants
For a fleeting night
A cure for an itch
Momentary piecemeal pleasures,
Allusions about a broken love of what used to be,
Illusions of what you could have been,
Momentary
Thoughts, momentary projections, when you make love with your catch, as you puff your smoke to
Confuse the ceiling with your gaze of momentary
Emptiness,
You are the first one
To leave, after paying the bills,
They always pretend asleep,
While naked,
As you leave his due on the side table,
You go home on shriveled hair,
Driving a red car,
Smokeless to the road,
Your cellphone rings,
Your son in his father’s house calls
“Mommy, I want to go home”
“I am driving, ’ you call him,
A flash of momentary happiness,
A momentary sadness,
Flip-flopping to your mind,
What are these really, these that meet your gaze for something that should have been permanent,
That red hibiscus, that blooms only for a day,
Is ephemeral,
Like stolen nights,
Like the way your child calls you, because father is always away,
“I am in Cebu for a week”, said many times over and over again,
Her stint for a night is ephemeral,
Electronic calls are ephemeral,
A happy home, her dream, was sort of, kinda like red hibiscus
Ephemeral too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Strange Bondage
Just when I told you
I am a lie
you believed me
when I told
I simply use you
you believed me
but when I told
you are a no-one
simply a number
your trust cracked
and lastly when I told
you should leave me
you proved yourself a liar...
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Titles And Respect
I am told often
(all that,
presumably, to nurture some sophistication in me)
that one must address people with an apt title
or salutation:
Sir, Miss, Mr, Mrs, Lady, Guru,
Your Majesty, Most Revered Sir;
Most Holy Representative of God;
Mr President I Kiss Your Feet;
God Almighty,
Dr, Professor, Most Reverend, Your Highness …
and the likes;
this, I am advised (or warned as the case may be) ,
shows one’s respect
but what I cannot fathom in my simplicity is
if it is the case that I have no respect for a kangaroo
if I simply call it joey
which simply anyway crawls back to its mum’s teats;
and if a child laughs and speaks to me with no titles
but simply with a: Hi, my ball is in your yard;
could you throw it over the fence, please? -
and likewise I do not throw a title at the child,
are the two of us - child and neighbor - guilty of disrespect?
and what if my wife and I do not greet each other:
Good morning, Sir or Good morning, Madam;
or Good Night, Sir or Good Night, Madam…
are we two guilty of a lack of finesse and not having respect?
in all these
I truly and simply, and respectfully, cannot see
if we have, or do not have any respect for one another…
But still I am chided by the respect-obsessed world;
ah, the ways of the clever world are indeed mysterious
and beyond a common man’s understanding…
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!