Years And Years Of Order
years and years of order,
a century of
system, what have all these made out of me?
have i become a piece of law?
solid stone?
a bar of gold?
a thread of silence?
have i become so less of myself?
that seed growing and suppressed
inside a plastic pot?
where are my tendrils? oh, they have all been pruned
and i look so prim and proper
like a manicured lawn,
i have always loved the sun and
all my leaves wish for
its rays, and i have always adored the moon
and all my flowers
exuded the fragrance for the night
but look at me
inside the box of civilization
the walls of propriety
the house of morality
look at me? i am whorled
i am misshapen
i am bleeding and i am dying
to be whole again
to be free, i am evaporating
into a madness that all my senses are craving
a night nude, a day glimmering
a ball of fist,
a stab of stares
a burst of a gun beside my butt
a scream for love
look at me, do i look so ruined?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Eternal Legs
Across the space
We fly around the world
For years... years... years... years...
Were out of control
Inside an iron ball
Desire
Chorus:
We see the moon
A color ball
We wont be free again
No choice
An iron box
Electric brain release
Away... away... away... away
A piece of steel
Thats all we ever feel
No pain
(chorus)
Desire
We see the moon
A color ball
We wont be free again
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eternal Legs
Across the space
We fly around the world
For years... years... years... years...
Were out of control
Inside an iron ball
Desire
Chorus:
We see the moon
A color ball
We wont be free again
No choice
An iron box
Electric brain release
Away... away... away... away
A piece of steel
Thats all we ever feel
No pain
(chorus)
Desire
We see the moon
A color ball
We wont be free again
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stone Walls
Written by - Jim Croce
It's been too many years inside this prison
Too many years just for one little fight
He got what was comin'
And I think I served enough time
I'm goin' home tonight
That stone looks mighty cold
And the guard that walks that wall
Is just waitin' to get a convict in his sights
But if I can clear the top
You can bet I'll never stop
Cause I'm goin' home tonight
Chorus:
Because stone walls do a prison
Make iron bars a cage
Any man who says they don't
Never been inside
Cause in time the bars get closer
And at night the walls grow tighter
Do you feel like there's a shackle around your mind?
Now those guards are on my tail
I can hear those sirens wail
But I know that I'll get away and that I'll be alright
Cause I'd rather live on the run
Stand free in the morning sun
Then to spend another lonely prison night
Chorus
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mandela Day
It was 25 years they take that man away
Now the freedom moves in closer every day
Wipe the tears down from your saddened eyes
They say mandelas free so step outside
Oh oh oh oh mandela day
Oh oh oh oh mandelas free
It was 25 years ago this very day
Held behind four walls all through night and day
Still the children know the story of that man
And I know whats going on right through your land
25 years ago
Na na na na mandela day
Oh oh oh mandelas free
If the tears are flowing wipe them from your face
I can feel his heartbeat moving deep inside
It was 25 years they took that man away
And now the world come down say nelson mandelas free
Oh oh oh oh mandelas free
The rising suns sets mandela on his way
Its been 25 years around this very day
From the one outside to the ones inside we say
Oh oh oh oh mandelas free
Oh oh oh set mandela free
Na na na na mandela day
Na na na na mandelas free
25 years ago
Whats going on
And we know whats going on
Cos we know whats going on
Words and music : simple minds reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Privacy Of The Home
there is a party
but i am not going
i choose
staying inside the house
not watching tv
but just thinking and
lying low
listening to the silence
of the four walls, and then
i take the exit
outside i go
into the garden at night
under the trees
the scents of some
flowers pervading
and then i take a seat
on a big stone
and feel the hardness
of the earth
i am soft in the middle
of this garden
i like it
this private dwelling
just the trees and the
flowers
in the middle of the night
when everyone is
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twentieth Century Fox
Well, shes fashionably lean, and shes fashionably late
Shell never wreck a scene, shell never break a date
But shes no drag, just watch the way she walks
Shes a twentieth century fox, shes a twentieth century fox
No tears, no fears, no ruined years, no clocks
Shes a twentieth century fox, oh yeah
Shes the queen of cool, and shes the lady who waits
Sent to manless school, it never hesitates
She wont waste time, on elementary talk
cause shes a twentieth century fox, shes a twentieth century fox
Got the world locked up, inside a plastic box
Shes a twentieth century fox, oh yeah
Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
Twentieth century fox
Shes a twentieth century fox
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Change Me?
when you arrive here
you change the paint of the house
you like it pastel blue on the door
white on the walls
and green on the windows
you change the landscape
except of the wanton garden
you opt for a manicured lawn
and some of my trees
and shrubs have to be
cut down,
some flowers have to go
you bring in
the violets, and lavenders
and white champacas
you like a scent from around
you
specially during the night
when we simply sit
on the lawn
now you begin to demand
some changes from me
the time when i wake
up or sleep
you like soap i like sports
you want me to enjoy
love stories
the color of my socks
my tie my polo shirts
i give in for a while
but there is an end to all these
attempts to change me
you cannot,
i am me before the landscape
before the paints of the house
i am me before the lawns and flowers and socks
and shirts and soap
i am already me before you arrive
to my house
to my life
you cannot change me
because
i love who i am what i am and i know perfectly just what i want to make
myself
even without you,
make some more attempts to change me
and i will ask you to leave at once
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New Years Eve 1999
Written by gretchen peters
Baby, lets make a date for a night on the town
How does the turn of the century sound
I guarantee that well have a good time
New years eve 1999
Now I know it sounds a bit premature
But Im askin you now cause I want to be sure
Do you have anything else in mind
New years eve 1999
Well drink pink champagne from a plastic cup
Dance all night til the sun comes up
Well say its been a pretty good century
Except for that weekend in 93
Then well go home to our warn winter bed
And tuck in the kids with a kiss on the head
And sing one more chorus of auld lang syne
New years eve 1999
Ill be your sweetheart if youll be mine
New years eve 1999, new years eve 1999
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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About A Stone Without A Door
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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339
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House of Stone
I came, from where?
From the house made of stone...
My aunt Romana -
That whom you do not know,
When she had an accident
She stayed in the house of stone
To get well and recover...
But with a cutting tongue
Against my father,
She said to me,
'T'is a big house made of stone,
But inside here lives an owl! '
Where did I come from?
From that house of stone...
But I cannot fathom,
Was her anger so deep
For the owl on pedestal,
The King of our clan;
Was corrupted and fallen
Weakened by the flesh of men...
My Aunt Romana, she left
And my father is dead;
The house made of stone
Forever ruined...
But the lesson of the owl lives;
And him fondly remembered!
poem by Jane Quijano
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Twentieth Century Fox
Written by The Doors
Well, she's fashionably lean
Hey and she's fashionably late
She'll never gonna wreck a scene
She'll never break a date
But now she's no drag
Just watch the way that she walks
She's a twentieth century fox
She's a twentieth century fox
She's got world, she's got the world
All locked up inside a plastic box
She's a twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's the queen of cool
And she's the lady who waits
Sent to manless school
She never gonna hesitate
Well know she don't waste her time
On all this elementary talk
She's a twentieth century fox
She's a twentieth century fox
She got the world, babe,
Now she got this world
She got it all locked up
Inside some kind of plastic plastic box
She's a Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's a Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's a Twentieth century fox, oh yeah
She's a Twentieth century fox
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song of Kanthil Flowers
perhaps my words are ragged
for love always never ragged
for years we chatted such as
the can sound which was kicked by the legs idly
in blind alleys clogged, the silence channel
the sound of the cat's mouth or fight because of lust
during the nights with expectantly
once upon time I picked kanthil flowers, want and want
i embed in your ear
or stringing gori leaves and I made a crown on your head
to lullaby of bankruptcy from full moon to full moon
although this hand was shaking and had trouble reaching
tired of soluble that prey
so where else wanted sown
to the cry earth? ?
create an extinct man in civilization
or in ditches garbage every day we meet
hearts are torn whether you like the wind go?
probably not easily met kanthil flowers
such as courtship
only the broken tiles on the ruins
from our house burning
and we are only able to totter
traveled up from alley to alley
offering the folders containing the restless soul
restless
bells-whistles
is a madness marker there?
hunted man said as losers who continue
must constantly marginalized..
or mortgaged as old newspapers
the merchant
peddlers are still ultimately pointless
as a wrapper
boiled peanuts joy of our children? ?
if we are tired then we sat under the mahogany
tiredness and fatigue
what we want to sell this madness?
before the almighty of these, say that this is not the madness? ?
(1998)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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I'm Dying inside
I'm dying inside, crying, bleeding, screaming
but no one can tell because I keep a straight face
on the inside i feel like killing myself
i feel like i have no reason for living
like something is eating my insides
There is a voice in my head telling me to just die
That no one wants me and sometimes I feel like its telling the truth
My inside hurts they're screaming at me because of the pain
I've tried evrything but nothing works
What should I do about the bleeding that I feel inside of me about the screaming about the pain
I cant take the pain the bleeding the screaming
I must do something
I must go somewhere where the pain will go away where everything bad goes away
I know what to do but I'm scared
But the pain the bleeding and the screaming is getting worse
I do what i have to do
I take they knife and put it through my chest
I wake up and the pain the bleeding and the screaming inside me are gone
I have gone to the better place where ther is no pain
Where there is nothing that can hurt me
There is no more dying inside me
The pain the bleeding and the screaming are all gone
poem by Nicki Faith
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Walls Of Red Wing
Oh, the age of the inmates
I remember quite freely:
No younger than twelve,
No older n seventeen.
Thrown in like bandits
And cast off like criminals,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
From the dirty old mess hall
You march to the brick wall,
Too weary to talk
And too tired to sing.
Oh, its all afternoon
You remember your home town,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
Oh, the gates are cast iron
And the walls are barbed wire.
Stay far from the fence
With the lectricity sting.
And its keep down your head
And stay in your number,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
Oh, its fare thee well
To the deep hollow dungeon,
Farewell to the boardwalk
That takes you to the screen.
And farewell to the minutes
They threaten you with it,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
Its many a guard
That stands around smilin,
Holdin his club
Like he was a king.
Hopin to get you
Behind a wood pilin,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
The night aimed shadows
Through the crossbar windows,
And the wind punched hard
To make the wall-siding sing.
Its many a night I pretended to be a-sleepin,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
As the rain rattled heavy
On the bunk-house shingles,
And the sounds in the night,
They made my ears ring.
til the keys of the guards
Clicked the tune of the morning,
Inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
Oh, some of usll end up
In st. cloud prison,
And some of usll wind up
To be lawyers and things,
And some of usll stand up
To meet you on your crossroads,
From inside the walls,
The walls of red wing.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truly Great
My walls outside must have some flowers,
My walls within must have some books;
A house that's small; a garden large,
And in it leafy nooks.
A little gold that's sure each week;
That comes not from my living kind,
But from a dead man in his grave,
Who cannot change his mind.
A lovely wife, and gentle too;
Contented that no eyes but mine
Can see her many charms, nor voice
To call her beauty fine.
Where she would in that stone cage live,
A self-made prisoner, with me;
While many a wild bird sang around,
On gate, on bush, on tree.
And she sometimes to answer them,
In her far sweeter voice than all;
Till birds, that loved to look on leaves,
Will doat on a stone wall.
With this small house, this garden large,
This little gold, this lovely mate,
With health in body, peace in heart--
Show me a man more great.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Be-ing
for as long as there is still a sigh left
there is always that possibility for the scream
or if you don't
you shall choose the silence of the seed
another night
of waiting and soon you will see the tendrils of light sprouting
it is a new day, it is the promise of be-ing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After Reading Sylvia Plath's Riddle In Nine Syllables
sylvia, the elephant is inside your
tummy, you have become a melon growing and crawling in tendrils
a ponderous house
a red fruit
you have eaten a bag of green apples
and rode a train without stopping
to an exit
sylvia, i may not understand the nine syllables
inside you
for i am a man without
these syllables
sylvia i put two syllables somewhere
and it grows into three just three
there was bleeding and i saw it
i took her to the hospital and she was put into a sleep
and she was finally made to appear
clean to me
she was numb and speechless to the window panes
there was frost
and there was that bird which flew away since then
from her forehead
now, sylvia look at me
i was the man who only had three syllables
look at me in this sentence
i am a comma, i am a period.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stormrider
As I travel through the astral plains
I see the break ahead
As though the sky has burst in flames
Before the storm I dread
Lightning breaks across the sky
Blackish blue at night
Riders ride on dismal clouds
I scream at heavens light
Storming demons travel through the night
The time is almost here
I lay in a jacket of steel
My scream no one hears
I can feel the storm approaching
The pain is its' reality
The death I breathe is in the air
I feel no more, no longer care
The trumpets sound as I break free
This vision I see just can't be me
What is this that I have done
Why am I the chosen one
Fight on, grab on
Stormrider
Stormrider
Now the rider rides through the night
The time is almost here
As I lay wrapped in steel
My scream no one hears
Help me, through this hell inside
My life's my own, it's my pride
Carry on my solid dream
Save me from this horrid scream
Fight on, grab on
Stormrider
Stormrider
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Night When The World Is Sleeping
at night when the world is sleeping
i have learned to sing inside the chamber of my heart
i have become this nightingale
a black nightingale singing the songs of the full moon
at night i have become this bleeding heart
blood dripping on the floor of the house
at night i beg the moon to listen
to the songs of the black nightingale
i beg the moon
to see the blood from my heart dripping
i beg the floor to understand and for a time being
when sadness and mourning reigns in the house of my body
to keep this bleeding heart
like sands on the floor of its hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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