Writing At That Time When You Were Sick...or Dying
when you write
when you are sick and having fever throughout the night
there is no one beside you
there is no electricity, and there is a storm raging on your roof
the house is shaking
you feel that in a short while this house will be blown away
and you just do not know what happens in mid-air
when you write these lines
you hear voices asking for help as though they are buried by the waves
twirled and taken to the bottom of that deep and dark ocean
some bodies
of children and women
some still holding each others' hands
lay dead beside the black corrals and the sea porcupines and urchins
finally, you are carried by this horror
your body shakes in terror like the house shaking its beams and walls in mid-air
you give up the pen
let go off the paper
you give up that consciousness
what you have and what you are now
is air,
strangled like a throat
all breaths finally
sucked
in a vacuum
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A House Without Stairs
do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore
without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me
take the roof
if you want
or the beams
or even the floor and window frames
my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling
whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead
crushed to the death of
our imaginations
a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming
the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have You Experienced Inside A Wall Within A Wall Within A Wall?
i laugh since i broke a wall and i smile because finally i am free
and yet when i try to smile anew i find myself inside another wall again.
i break another wall again and again and again
but the walls keep walling me like i am its lover.
and finally i give up, i feel the walls too loving and caring for me.
and then i care for the walls and learn to love each corner
its thickness its soundless world
and then i tell the house where the walls are growing healthy,
i am glad about walls. They keep me secure. And then finally i said it for once.
the walls love me. and i love the walls since then.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Sing And I Write
you sing and i write
you sing louder
and i write some more
as i do not sleep
as early as you
want to
to sleep with you and keep you warm
and keep you happy
and so secure
and then you stop singing
as i still go on writing and writing and writing and writing still
without minding that you already stopped singing
and you wished
that this house burns itself
that i too burn myself with it
that i may finally become ash
that i finally be blown by air as nothing but dust
and then she may finally continue
her singing and even dancing
and learn to fiddle the strings her new violin
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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HOE HOUSE...by talile ali
HOE HOUSE
IF YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS
WHEN DOIN IT RUNS AMUCK
HOE HOUSE
THE MOMMA LIKES TO DO IT
SO DO HER LITTLE DUCKS
HOE HOUSE
SHE DOESN'T WANT THEM DOIN
SOME LAZY KNOTHEAD CHUMPS
HOE HOUSE
THEN SHE GETS ALL DRUNKED UP
AND DOES SOME LAZY BLIND KNOTHEAD CHUMP
HOE HOUSE
THE CHILDREN THEY CAN HEAR HER
WHEN SHE STARTS TO WAIL
HOE HOUSE
DOING ANY FELLA
BEFORE SHE GOES TO HELL
HOE HOUSE
SHE WILL DO'EM NASTY
IN THE RAW OR IN THE MOUTH
HOE HOUSE
WHILE HER BABIES LISTEN
THEY DRESS AND LEAVE THE HOUSE
HOE HOUSE
SHE TELL'S THEM 'IT'S NOT NOTHING'
'JUST A LIL FIX'
HOE HOUSE
THEY COULD NEVER BELIEVE HER
SHE'S JUST UP TO HER TRICKS
HOE HOUSE
WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW IS
IF THEY GET FUCKED, I SWEAR
HOE HOUSE
THESE BABE'S THEY JUST CANT HELP YOU
CAUSE THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED
HOE HOUSE
YOU'RE THEIR GOD, THEIR TEACHER
THEIR EVER SHINING LIGHT
HOE HOUSE
THE SUCCUBUS IN SEX
THE BLIND, AND DICK, AND SCARY
HOE HOUSE
IS SHE SO SURPRISED
WHEN HER GIRL'S ARE DEAD AND BURIED
HOE HOUSE
WHATS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE
AINT SO GOOD WHEN THEY'RE DUCKLINGS
HOE HOUSE
DON'T BE SO SURPRISED
WHEN THE FRUIT IS REALLY RANCID
HOE HOUSE
WITH THE FELLA'S IN THEIR RAGE
FINISHED HER STOUT BEFORE THEY LANCE IT
HOE HOUSE
SHE'S SO PISSED
HER BABE'S JUST CAN'T HELP HER
HOE HOUSE
WITH A BUNCHA SAD JACKS
HANGIN ALL AROUND TO ENHANCE HER
HOE HOUSE
THEY CAN SMELL THE BREWERY
WAITING TO GET POUND
HOE HOUSE
CHILDREN CAN ONLY SEE
WHAT THEY LEARN AND WHAT THEY FOUND
HOE HOUSE
IF MOM IS DEEP INTO DOING IT
THE GIRLS WILL TRY AT LEAST
HOE HOUSE
YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE THEM
THE'RE STILL NEW TO THE FEAST
HOE HOUSE
I LIVED IN A HOE HOUSE
I DON'T HAVE A LOT
THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING
I CAN SAY TO MAKE IT STOP
TO ALL THAT LOVE HOEING,
THE BLOWING, AND WHAT NOT
THE LUST FOR NOT GROWING
IS ALL THAT THEY'VE GOT
IT WAS MY BIGGEST FEAR
EVERY NIGHT, EVERY YEAR
CAUSE IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM
MY GIRLS ARE NOW DOING IT, IT'S CLEAR
WHAT CAN I SAY?
I DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE THEM THAT WAY!
SO IF YOU SEE THAT YOU
ARE LIVING LIKE ME
HOE HOUSE
GRAB UP ALL YOUR BABIES
AND LEAVE THIS INSANITY
HOE HOUSE
poem by Talile Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Self-talk In That Secret....
at the end
i am about to cry
something bothers me
somehow
i can't
i hold the knob of the
door
tightly
i want to go out from
this old house
and be with you
but i finally loosen
my hold
and go back to the room
of myself
the law speaks
tradition warns that something
may happen
and i cannot take
all the possible
harsh
consequences
and so i give up my life
and meaning
i stay in the comfort of ordinary
days
unhappily
but it is worth it
when i come back i find a house where i
can still live
it is you that makes me live some more
in the blur of our memories
when you are finally gone
with no address t refer to
(you never write me letters)
i stay put on my chair
and immerse myself in the deep silence
of my sad thoughts
it is the case again
of i want to go but i must stay
same rehashed argument
when i ask you if you are happy
your answer is yes and no,
but i understand it perfectly
it is the same answer that i write
in my journal
in those three perfect days
i forgive myself
but i can never forget you
love stays
but time shall always try to vanish it
without
our consent
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Storm In My Sea Finally Subsided...,
the storm of my sea finally subsides
i am a chinese silk spread on the tranquility of the salty water
seagulls leave because there is no fish to hunt
and take upon their hungry beaks
i have no regret, i have finally seen the sun
across my whiter horizon
i see boats and nets spread on my surface
i am a very calm day
soon the children will come and play
throw balls on my white sands
fill this space with laughter and not one of them will ask
what a storm was, where there was a house here before but was
taken by the rage of the wind
gone,
the children have nothing to do with the past
they are not meant for that
an old man arrives with a grandson, being helped to sit on one of the chairs in the shore under a shade of a big old tree
he is the thinker of this storm this place
he knows everything, but he is silent as a dead leaf on his feet
he rests his head on a pillow puts his feet and hands in the fold
wears his dark sunglasses and stares at the far far horizon
i will join him when the sun finally sets, when the color of the horizon turns into orange and then black
as i turn off the light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What have i done
Im in a room with you and its eating me alive
I am in the darkness while you're in the light
I thought what we did would satisfy my itch
But all its done is make me feel like a selfless bitch
I fell for you and your traps and i cant take the guilt
I am feeling pain i have never felt
I dont know what im suppose to do
I cant just go on ignoring you
I cant run away from my fears
I am tired of holding back all these tears
I cant stand whats happening its making me inasne
You are the only thing on my brain
I dont know why but i cant conectrate on anything else
This is unlike anything ive ever felt
How do i defeat this overewhelming pain and terror
I cant stand to look at myself in my own mirror
I dont know how i am suppose to cope
I've tried talking but still no hope
I try escaping through music
everything im deeming useless
I feel like ive been used
I feel like ive been abused
I hate myself more then ever before
Its as if my lifeless body is left bleeding away on the floor
I write this with you in the same room sitting a few rows back
my hands are trembling and i feel like im having a heart attache
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh i scream inside and im trying to claw my way out
but im stuck and theres now way out of this cold dark house
the house of fear and pain
the house where theres nothing but rain
the house in which ive resided for many years
the house in which is made by my tears
poem by Jean Pullman
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Something That Flows Away
FINALLY you tell me
you like an empty house
something minimal
all white with no curves
just straight lines
your want is small now
something that makes us close
something that shrinks
to make an intimacy
you want a house just
for the two of us
i am thinking if these thoughts
are a little bit late
my dreams are different
i am thinking of a bird-house
i am thinking of grains
i am thinking of water
something that i can leave
something that i can give
something that flows away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soon, Sometime
soon, is mother's
usual word for hope
so i may not retreat
and lurk by the dark
corner and weep.
soon when your
papa comes soon
when he is finally
forgiven, soon
when the storm
is over soon when
the house is
again strenthened
by its walls and
scaffolds
soon when you grow
up to be a man soon
when you are big
enough to understand
what really is the matter
why the roof leaks why
the door is always closed
why the glass windows
are misty
soon my son she says
soon you will have stronger
hands to hold on to a
pillar soon my son you
will have a brain that
travels beyond this
trifles soon my son you
will have wings to fly
and soon you will know
that this life is our journey
towards an uncertain
destination soon my son
you will know that you will
always be going and going
and goind soon you will
know my son, that there
is no stopping that there
is only an overlapping
of waves and shore and
waves and shore in the
never ending ebb and
rise of life and death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Homecoming
Grandfather built, with his own hands
The house we children called our home.
A fine expanse of stone and brick,
a castle that was ours alone.
That was before the threatening storm
turned us into refugees
The howling wind, the battering surge
Let loose the Ocean's enmity.
Of our fine home scant trace remains:
Some stone and the foundation walls
Keepsakes and memories long displayed
Sadly we have lost them all.
No loss of life, no death to weep
But still a sense of loss pervades.
The certainty of Youth is gone
And fallen trees can give no shade.
We'll build again with our own hands
The house our children will call home.
I think, perhaps, on higher ground,
Where Ocean waves do seldom roam
There we will make new memories
Those things we lost will matter not.
We have each other, that is enough.
We'll build our heaven on this spot.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Homeless Childrens Covenant
So much bad news- about children being abused.
What kind of thoughts can go thru a molesters mind
Don’t they know they’ll be caught with time.
Do you know how many children have run away
Because in their house they could not stay.
At the time they think that the streets are their escape
But they don’t know that predators sit and wait.
They offer you food, a roof, and a bed to sleep
Once they get you - you’re in trouble deep.
They will tell you that you have no value, no worth
You’ve never been loved since your birth.
They’ll tell you that the only thing that you can do
Is give a sexual favor or two.
You have no money- no food
Just the clothes on your back
Against you the cards have been stacked.
No education and no place to live
What can you offer- what do you have to give.
They’ll say anything to get control
They want to own you body and soul.
Go to your local churches, or the YMCA
If they can’t help you, they’ll recommend a way.
There are places that you can go
Where they can help you- more than you know.
One of these is called “COVENANT HOUSE”
Helping boys and girls of all ages
Knowing each child has gone thru different stages.
A roof, a bed, food to eat
You can finally get off the streets.
They can help you turn your life around
And no more being put to the ground.
Giving you self respect, and it gets better yet.
A place where there is love abound
This is the place that many have found.
Many had to get out of an abusive family situation
But the streets is not your salvation.
There are kids younger than you
What do you think they’ve gone through.
Use the strength and knowledge
that you have gained
To help others of the same.
poem by Louis Rams
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Stranger In The House
We dont talk much
We dont make love like we used to
And I stay guarded
Ive got walls and triggers
I never thought I had
And so do you
But this is love
And thats the way we seem content to play it
I touch your clothes when youre gone
I let your scent wash over me
You cry at night and you wish just like a child
That we were how we used to be
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
And she looks like somebody from a lifetime ago
I stonewall you, you stonewall me
But we both know that
Hiding deep inside us
Lives the love that we try hard to lose
And never will
But this is war
And thats the way we seem content to fight it
I get so angry and confused cause
I want out but I want you
You cant decide between moving out or moving in
You dont know what to do
With a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
And she looks like you
And he looks like me
Is this the same girl that, I fought so hard to win
And now I fight to lose her
Now I feel that its just like skin to skin
And nerve to nerve
Strung out like wire
Is that the way we are content to live
We face off in anger
In rooms once filled with love
Looking for a chink in the armour
Where we can stab the blade
What are we thinking of
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
And she looks like somebody from a lifetime ago
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
Theres a stranger in the house
In the house
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman Enough
Because my grandmother's hours
were apple cakes baking,
& dust motes gathering,
& linens yellowing
& seams and hems
inevitably unraveling
I almost never keep house
though really I like houses
& wish I had a clean one.
Because my mother's minutes
were sucked into the roar
of the vacuum cleaner,
because she waltzed with the washer-dryer
& tore her hair waiting for repairmen
I send out my laundry,
& live in a dusty house,
though really I like clean houses
as well as anyone.
I am woman enough
to love the kneading of bread
as much as the feel
of typewriter keys
under my fingers
springy, springy.
& the smell of clean laundry
& simmering soup
are almost as dear to me
as the smell of paper and ink.
I wish there were not a choice;
I wish I could be two women.
I wish the days could be longer.
But they are short.
So I write while
the dust piles up.
I sit at my typewriter
remembering my grandmother
& all my mothers,
& the minutes they lost
loving houses better than themselves
& the man I love cleans up the kitchen
grumbling only a little
because he knows
that after all these centuries
it is easier for him
than for me.
poem by Erica Jong
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Dead inside
I feel dead inside,
Feeling my body shaking,
Feeling the numbness,
Watching my tears fall down,
The fault was my own,
I caused these things to happen,
Can’t believe that I felt this pain I feel along,
I can’t do this alone,
I need someone to help me cope with this feeling I feel,
I never knew the pain I feel for so long,
I wanna feel as if I belong here,
I don’t want to feel dead inside no more,
My body is shaking its aching,
It’s the same way,
Same rhyme,
Same poems I write over and over again,
Some change, some stay the same,
I feel dead inside,
I am all alone,
Facing this pain alone,
No one there to help me.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Pleasure
Under the blanket
Of a summer night
Hypnotized by the moon's light
And possessed by the ocean's breeze
Above, a jealous bird flying free
While below two souls emerged into one body
Giving explanation to nobody...
My starving and shaking hands
Voraciously redrawing your body in the sand
With plenty of passion and lust..
Here, I am with the woman I thought lost
Finally together without pressure
Captivated by the magic of pleasure,
And joyfully lost in another dimension...
Breaking all the rules without exception...
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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House Of 1000 Corpses
She got a corpse
Under her bed
He had her fun
But now hes dead
Hear momma said
Come feed desire
Her brother said
Hey, throw her on the fire
This is the house
Come on in
This is the house
Built on sin
This is the house
Nobody lives
This is the house
You get what you give
I cut the flesh
And make it bleed
Fresh skin
Is what I need
I let it dry
Out in the wood
All your crying
Did no good, yeah
Now youre lying
On the floor
Yeah, you cant
Take anymore
The devils laughing
In your face
Give me another taste, yeah
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Children Of Silence.
it is the unresolved conflict that will make us all
restless. No one wants a solution.
Solutions can be judgments. Do you react about
something terminal?
what will you do when you wait? Think, Think,
it is tiresome, it makes the body a very useless structure.
It shrinks like a deflated balloon.
it is this restlessness actually that makes us creative.
we thank God for this. Our house is incomplete. Who has a house
without stairs?
When i visit an old place, there is this shock
that the river is gone.Where did the river go?
Again, the hands of man, let it go.
Disappointed. The child stays in the house of his mother forever.
HE has no dreams. His fingers hold upon a needle and a thread
creating once again a heart of silk.
it is the unresolved conflict within us that makes us whole.
we are so restless, we dream of sand and shore and waves and foams.
we travel with the ocean, we drink its depth.
we are the children of silence. We are destined to write.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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