X5
there is a moment
for standing still and
just be here
listening, there is more
to what listening
gives, it is the emptying
of all gas,
it is the shhhhh
of this
existence, it the flat
tire and then
the filling up of all
that is flat and
empty, and then
it goes back
on page one which
has the theme of
moving and
bouncing and
flying and
be lost again to the
greatness of finally
finding the self that is
not actually inside
you....
the wind, the sea and
the width
and the length and
the unending and the
unedited...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Bouncing Off The Walls
She's ecstatic
She can't help it
She's bouncing off the walls again
Listening to her favorite love songs
Chatting with her man
Recalling old times
Bring up old memories
Listening to her favorite love songs
Shes bouncing off the walls again
Cause her love maybe coming back into her life
While listening to her favorite love songs
I think she has a permanent smile on her face
She's bouncing off the walls again
Drinking English Breakfast tea and listening to her favorite love songs
(5-1-05)
poem by Brandi Young
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Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse. Murphy's First Corollary If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the next morning you will have a flat tire.
quote by George Edward Woodberry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being Insensitive
You said to me 'if' I rode my bicycle,
I may or MAY NOT get a flat tire.
Well...
Mister President,
I 'did' get that flat.
And I'd like to know...
What you intend to do about it?
'I understand the gravity of your concern.
I can either take the bicycle back.
Which this administration purchased,
At no cost to you at all.
Or...
You can fix the flat tire yourself,
Creating a minor inconvenience.
To get back and forth from A to B.
Opposed to hitchhiking,
Or taking your time to walk.
Getting both exercise...
And obtaining a more healthier outlook on life.'
But Mister President,
Don't you think your response is a bit insensitive?
'Perhaps you are right.
I should have been more direct,
And called you an imbecile for your attempts...
To accuse and blame me for your recklessness.
Sit down fool.
Now...
That's being insensitive!
Next comment or question? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Poetry Has Gone Out Of Me
The Poetry has gone out of me
I am as blank as prose-
There is no force of feeling in me
Flat as a lox my words on the page-
I am the middle of the Midwest
Going on and on on the surface only-
I have no inside-
No wind shakes me-
Words are words and only words,
Detached from all emotion-
How flat stale not even weary and unprofitable can a blank confessional poem be?
The feeling of being without feeling
No feeling at all.
A lox inside and a lox on the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Flat
Back at the flat
I talk to my non-existent cat
Silence covers me like a Panama hat.
And the wonderful day we had at the zoo
Sunshine and ice cream; you snapped a Gnu.
Now echoes in the silence
That lonliness brings
Back at the flat where my life still clings,
Back at the flat i slowly fade in pain
Who will i hold so close again?
As cutting memories drive me insane
Trapped, i look out and it begins to rain.
Back at the flat i try to plan ahead
Feel one true kiss before i'm dead
Hold a hand that squeezes back tight
Drink wine and sing in someones moonlight.
Watching her in the kitchen, eyes glowing brand new
Now everything is a memory
Painted deep blue.
Back at the flat i dream a hug will come
A spark from her touch to heat this body numb.
Where is one night of stars to romance
She'll blow me a kiss as the world still rants.
My unknown love is waiting for me
All i need is her smile
And i'm flying free
Back at the flat my daydream ends
I cast my fate to the wind
And pray it ascends.
poem by Kevin East
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Square One
You're in control
Is there anywhere you wanna go?
You're in control
Is there anything you wanna know?
The future's for discovering
The space in which you travel in
From the top of your first page
To the end of the last page
From the start in your own way
You just want
Somebody listening to what you say
It doesn't matter who you are
It doesn't matter who you are
I said I'm on the top, I can't get back
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa
The first line in your first page
To the end of the last page
That you...
From the start in your own way
You just want
Somebody listening to what you say
It doesn't matter who you are
It doesn't matter who you are
You just want
Somebody listening to what you say
Oh, you just want
Somebody listening to what you say
It doesn't matter who you are
It doesn't matter who you are
Is there anybody out there who
Is lost and hurt and lonely too?
They're bleeding all the colors into one
And a few come undone
As if you've been run through
Some catapult who fired you
You wonder if your chance will ever come
Or if you're stuck in square one.
song performed by by Coldplay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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S.O.S.
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
I'm shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'll be standing here and I'm miles away
Making signals hoping they'd save me
I lock myself inside these walls
'Cause out there I'm always wrong
I don't think I'm gonna make it
So while I'm sitting here
On the eve of my death bed
I'll write this letter and hope it saves me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm stuck in my own head and I'm oceans away
Would anybody notice if I chose to stay?
I'll send and SOS tonight
Wonder if I will survive
How in the hell did I get so far away this time
So now I'm sitting here
The time of my departure's near
I say a prayer
Please someone save me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm lost here
I can't make it on my own
I don't wanna die alone
I'm so scared
Drowning now
Reaching out
Holding on to everything I love
Crying out
Dying now
Need some help
Is anybody listening?
Can you hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening?
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Lovely Couple
The Lovely Couple
In a café I hadn’t been to before I ate an omelet with
french fries, it was flat, boring the fries were re- heated.
Near me sat an old couple reading the paper together,
when he got and up walked outside for a smoke, she read
the obituary page, but just before he came back in she
folded the paper back to the page he was on before
leaving. He was interpreting to her what he had been
reading, something about the new president in the USA,
she knew of his views, she had heard them before,
she was listening to his voice, as they were old and near
the end of a blessed lane they had walked together.
Close they sat she held his arm and now they looked young.
It is odd to think if they knew they would live forever they
may have postponed their happiness indefinitely.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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You Dream Flat Tires
It came to pass
Like lightening striking from above
Electric flash
Just like lightening striking from above
Struck by precious love
Precious, precious love
So hopeless and so inspired
Why do you dream flat tires
When you dream flat tires?
You dream flat tires
With a jack and a spare youre there
Trying to get to where love is
Coming in on a wing and a prayer
Trying to get to where love is
cause love is precious love
You said it was precious
When first you felt my fire
Before you dreamed flat tires
You dreamed flat tires
You dream flat tires
Woman she bounce back easy
But a man could break both his legs
Are you telling me that to tease me?
Or just to hear me beg
Please dont go!
Cause I know that you love me
But, when are you going to let love be
Just a vague flirtation
Or extra special company?
cause love is precious love
Everybody knows its precious
When first they feel that fire
Before they dream flat tires
They dream flat tires
They dream flat tires
Woman she bounce back easy
But a man could break both his legs
Do you tell me that to tease me
Or just to hear me beg
Please dont be cold
I know that you love me
But, what are you going to let love do?
(flat tires, love, love is precious, flat tires,
Love, love is precious, flat tires, love,
Love is precious)
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hat Too Flat
We come in on the morning scan
All the way from far arcturus
Bringing with us peace and good will
From the margins of space and time
Our women are slung down low to the ground
Theyre very good youve probably had one
Our men are brave, studly and wise,
A pleasure to behold
Right away we walk the walk
More or less we talk the talk
But every time we make our play
Their eyes get wide they run away
cause the hat stays too flat
My hat is way too flat
My english she is much better now
But my hat remains too flat
The man smells a rat
And thats the end of that
My english it is more better now
But my hat is still too flat
Fair arcturus fashion forecast:
Skirts will be shorter
Legs stay long
Virtual raincoats are coming back
Hats as always continued flat
Back at home the machines work hard
We folk like to take it easy
Honing our awareness of
The finer things of life
Here when I go down to my job
I work hard for what seems like a long time
I look at my watch: fifteen minutes
It felt like half a day!
Soon enough we break for lunch
Me and the boys now Im one of the bunch
But no one wants to sit with me
So tell me what can the matter be?
The hat stays too flat
My hat is way too flat
My english she is much better now
But the hat is just too flat
A little thing like that
They dont get past the hat
My english it is more better now
But my hat remains too flat
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hollow Nature Of Being
WALL I:
inside an empty room lies an empty box
and in that box is a four walled inside room within-
on each of the four walls is a mirror reflecting
the deep desertion of the next
and distant within each wall is another
echoing & spiraling back into infinite repetition
with nothing or no one except the physical entities
bearing back upon each other.
WALL II:
an empty room in an empty house
the house itself has no physical attributes because it
was built in a barren field-
there are no animals, no trees,
no beings of any kind
roaming around the house whose image cannot be
imagined,
at best, know that this house in fact
“housed” the room in question,
as any house might any room.
WALL III:
such a barren field stretches to all four corners
carrying itself out beyond the periphery
curling back in on the other side,
and walking in any direction will bring one back to the
beginning-
the barren field that reveals the empty house that
encapsulates the empty room is the most integral point of
reference within the endless flat plain of grass.
WALL IV:
endless flat plains of grass flowing out in all directions covering
the circumference of the area around the empty house residing in
the middle of the plain wherein
the inside of the empty house holds the
empty room & in the
room,
the four mirrored walls reveal only the replication of the
others,
spiraling into infinite repetition-
there is no feeling
no sound
no communication of any kind
woven with the thread of human fiber.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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A Melody In Soft Gilded Brown (Revised)
There's always a heroine playing the ivories in my heart,
she plays Schubert's Impromptu in A-flat major beautifully
tonight - light-flashing notes, rolling whirlpools encircling
a melody in soft gilded brown
I follow in dance, turning whorls twirling, move to and
fro, up and down, weave musical lines in my heart until
circles heave in emotion, reach a peak and melody gilded
in soft velvet brown breathes tranquil serenity
My heart's secret place engulfs everyday life, revels in
memory of every great love, assigns delight to everyone,
each ray of sunshine, all moonbeams safe in a place
where no blight of being can touch - a Platonic world
Perfect of ideas where beauty remains an ideal
calling the dreamer forth - briefly adorning the
face of every smiling human being…
No.4 in A-flat major
The fourth Impromptu, in A-flat major, actually begins in
A-flat minor, though this is written as A-flat major with accidentals. The opening theme consists of cascading
arpeggios followed by murmuring chordal responses.
These are repeated and developed, going through C-flat
major and B minor before finally reaching A-flat major.
A subordinate theme is accompanied by the arpeggio figure,
varied with triplets. In the central section, in C-sharp
minor, the arpeggios are replaced by a chordal accompaniment venturing into the major mode towards its conclusion, but
reverts to the minor. The opening section is repeated and
the work ends in A-flat major. The tempo marking is
Allegretto.
http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impromptus_%28Schubert%29
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Turn Off The World
Got to pull it up
Got to pull it out
Got to survive
Got to stay calm
Got to think fast
Dont want to burn
Searching for a door
Searching for a way
Out of this thing
I dont know whats wrong
Dont know what to do
Im out of control
Nothing I can do
Nothing seems to work
Im barely alive
Got to slow it down
Got to do something
Or give in
Watching us fall
Trying everything
Fighting for life
Running out of time
I dont have a choice
Im riding it in
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
This is the fear
This is nothing like
You could believe
Panic in my heart
Like a cold hand
Pulling at strings
Ill do anything
Even pray to god
Just let me out
Turn off the machine
Turn off all the noise
Turn off the world
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
You learn fast when everything breaks down
You learn fast when thats all that you can do
You learn fast or nothing
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Music Is Gone
THE MUSIC IS GONE
The music is gone-
What is a poem without its own music?
There is no melody in me.
I hear these flat words form on the flat page.
There are no dimensions to me
I hear no singing as I write.
This poem is words with little feeling
A flat poor poem written by an old man
Who this morning
has not yet truly woken up.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Am Not Afraid Anymore In The Dark
yes, there is nothing to fear in darkness
nothing
is there anyway, nothing to feel in this emptiness emptying itself
like evaporating water into vapor
in space like a bag of dust spreading like feathers
in openness
you feel empty you feel the void wriggling inside your
guts
your mind floating so lightly like a dream in your sleep
like a mist
of the mountain
like a mist
of the green fields early morning
like a mist
floating in an open sea where a man paddles his life on his small wooden sail
be excited as i am excited about you
tipsy
in spirits of the red wine
and feeling so light so empty like a ray of light like a smoke rising from
a cigar
filling the room filling your chest
be excited as i am excited about you
emptying
like a window opening to the skies to see some shooting stars like eyes
gazing to an open ricefield
emptying wondering to so much wisdom now rushing back to you
like a door opening
for an incoming guest
like a crevice of your wall letting in a ray of light telling you
that morning with the sun
is coming
oh be excited as i am excited about you as i watch dawn turning into
day
oh, i am so happy seeing the void expanding
how much can you really hold on the next step after so much void?
oh i am so excited!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Let Us Begin
man if he is true to be man, is more real if he is at first
less of himself, when he is empty, when he is emptied,
when he is emptying. It is like the stomach, you feel it more
when it is empty rather than when it is full
it speaks to you when it is hungry
it grunts
it growls
it even howls
and sometimes it whistles
than when it is bloated with so much food
and wine and desserts.Because in hunger, in the hopelessness
of our state, in the emptiness of our being
we know where we will place
everything.
we will know our dreams, we meet our hopes,
for the first time
we know precisely when to wish,
and where to put them
when we are emptying,
when we are emptied
and now we are sure when we are filling.
let us begin.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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