Your Shadow Again....
i am tired.
you think that i do not know
how to draw your face
from only a few pieces
of evidence: an eyelash,
lips, a few locks of your
hair,
and a bowl of
water.
that is what you
do,
blackmail.
a shadow waits,
and it will stab you
too.
it is yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Who Can Take This Longing?
there is always a longing upon the mouth of an empty bowl
the one that you place beside the house that gapes its gaze towards the sun
when it rains you hope that this longing may be sealed by cold water
dropp by dropp throughout the whole night when the world is not seeing
anything, any ripple in your river
body,
no water can fill it, no rain can boast about its power
to level things with its pouring
there is one thing though that you wish to happen
that a child with a stone hits the body of the bowl so that it can be
broken into pieces
that finds no semblance from anything whatsoever
that it can be beyond repair
so that the longing shall be taken away by the pieces
now with its shattered voice
into the void.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Relics Of Love
the moon took away the memory
of you
the wind conceals the secrets
your shadow dissolves in the
days of my life
the river constantly murmurs
about what happens to the forest
jewels
my hands are closed
they do not open to the water
the rain is no exemption
to this hiding
but then the blankets and the pillows
where the locks of your hair are homed
still whisper your name
in the crevices of artful rocks
your face is carved
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The river
You
Sang alone
Alone by the autumn willow
With the face in the shadow made of water drop
I was flowing
You
Sang alone
Alone by the banks meeting in eternity
With sounds silent on your lips
I was flowing
I loved your song
And your face in the shadow made of water drop
And the sounds silent on your lips
This is why I was flowing
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I Was Tired
I saw her again-
brushing her hair
that fell like shiny feathers.
Her eyes had mocked
her solemn face
as though a dagger
has flashed behind her gaze.
She brushed her hair
that fell like shiny feathers
while her eyes had mocked her face.
Her lips do nothing but conceal
the pain that flows like river.
I grew tired watching at her
loneliness that often speaks forever.
I was tired-
so i turned away from the mirror.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Broken Face
I got a broken face
I got a
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face (3x)
There was this boy who had two
Children with his sisters
They were his daughters
They were his favourite lovers
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face, uh-hu, uh-hu
I got a broken face
There was this man who snapped his poke
In little pieces
And then they drilled holes
And then they put em back in there
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face
The little thing who does my laundry
Speaks no english
But if you saw her
Youd say isnt she lovely
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dica
With flowers fair adorn thy lustrous hair,
Dica, amidst thy locks sweet blossoms twine,
With thy soft hands, for so a maiden stands
Accepted of the gods, whose eyes divine
Are turned away from her--though fair as May
She waits, but round whose locks no flowers shine.
Her Golden Veil
She moves to kiss me from above,
her body over mine,
moves to brush back her hair,
to keep it from my face when,
stopping her hand,
I draw her closer and,
nearing me, her hair
falls around my head.
A curtain, golden, for us,
just her and me,
intensifying intimacy,
and concealing us,
just her and me,
in a golden dusk
that, as it closes,
disregards all the world,
but her and me.
Her face,
her lips,
her breath,
her mouth.
And me.
poem by Red O'Mara
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Away The Bowl
Our grateful hearts with temperance burn,
Away, away the bowl,
From dram shops all, our steps we turn,
Away, away the bowl;
Farewell to rum and all its harms,
Farewell the wine-cup's boasted charms,
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
See how that staggering drunkard reels!
Away, away the bowl;
Alas, the misery he reveals,
Away, away the bowl;
His children grieve, his wife's in tears!
How sad his once bright home appears!
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
We drink no more, nor buy nor sell,
Away, away the bowl!
The grog-shop's offers we repel,
Away, away the bowl.
United in a temperance band,
We 're joined in heart, we 're joined in hand,
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
poem by John Pierpont
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To The Gods
to the gods
i honor them
with the humble
entrance to
my abode
my batting
eyelash
my dead
eyelid
my wry smile
my knife of
loneliness
that can stab
anybody
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Look closer
You are angry
Slap me
Slap me harder
Lose your anger
You are sad
Cry
Cry the loudest
Do not mind me
You are violent
You are raging
Kill me
Shoot me
Stab me
Chop me
Into tiny pieces
After this violence
Collect the pieces
Connect the puzzling pieces
Get the image
Take a closer look
It is you
I am you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Look closer: please do not forget
You are angry
Slap me
Slap me harder
Lose your anger
You are sad
Cry
Cry the loudest
Do not mind me
You are violent
You are raging
Kill me
Shoot me
Stab me
Chop me
Into tiny pieces
After this violence
Collect the pieces
Connect the puzzling pieces
Get the image
Take a closer look
It is you
I am you
please
do not
forget
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The River 2/Rijeka 2
you sang alone
alone by an autumn made willow
with your face in a shadow of a water drop
and I was flowing
you sang alone
alone by the banks closing in the lap
with the sounds silent on your lips
and I was flowing
and I loved your song
and your face in a shadow of a water drop
and the sounds silent on your lips
that's why I was flowing
ti pjevao si sam
sam kraj jasike od jeseni
s licem u sjeni od vodene kapi
a ja sam tekla
ti pjevao si sam
sam kraj obala sastavljenih u krilu
sa zvucima tihim na usnama
a ja sam tekla
i voljela tvoju pjesmu
i tvoje lice u sjeni od vodene kapi
i zvuke tihe na usnama tvojim
zato sam tekla
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Want More Hair?
I'd love
I think
more hair
more hair
like a big
old grizzly bear
more hair makes
you manly
more hair
makes you tough
more hair feels
like carpet
more hair keeps
you rough
more hair
for pretty ladies
to rub their faces on
more hair for
guys to jealous of
and more locks that can
be flung
I think more hair would be awesome
but I wouldn't wanna overdo it
because too much hair would make
me like a little furry blanket
and I couldn't cover both of us
just you and that ain't fair
more hair!
poem by John W. McEwers
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So Beautiful
The way her lips poked out from her face, so beautiful
The way her hair laid across her face
Just those few strades of hair would do it
So beautiful
When her face wrenkle up when she's mad
Not all that beautiful but still
So beautiful
When she sit down how her legs chris-cross
Makes you wanna bit yo bottom lip
Making your lips whispper
Something like this...
She's So Beautiful
poem by Ardimus Caldwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Hair
Your hair, a city of chestnut brown
With locks resilient like hands, steady ambidextrous hands
And the chamomile bliss and breeze in the land,
Subtly sit like an orphaned child
Your hair, and the enticing air
Twisted and curled, devoured by a cicada
With pointed antenna beaming forward
Quantum leaps and celestial bodies reunited
Your hair, of soft and cozy feel
Buried me underneath the aroma
Of coffee-laced and inebriated mornings,
In the strands of the rays of the Sun,
Hanging by a thread,
Dwindling by the street lamps that flicker -
Ensconced in the premise of the night
And the eyes resembling a masked crescent moon
Then it should appear to me,
Like a fire and a name emblazoned on pavements
Talking like puppets and mannequins
With shunned eyes and stationary stances
Your hair, not that I know of -
The surreal and bizarre complex
Of the strands and locks that entwine
With fate and time, leaving me dismantled
I feel naked underneath your hair,
And over your lips, your lips of iridescence
My soul, lit like fireworks in high spirits
My oh my, do I wish to be buried underneath your hair
If I couldn't see you, like time eschewing the breath
Of sunshine's mouth, and the prying moon
Then I shall think of your hair and not your feet
For it is in your hair, have I found divine solace
And when I run my hands and caress thy chestnut brown
Of a hair so delighted by the chandeliers and lamps,
I feel my soul runaway in the impasse, the opaque tunnel
Your hair not of the arbitrator, not the trivial, but the certain
Your hair of enthralling fragrance and glowing with poise
Like stellar eyes in the dead azure, not resurrected
I long for your hair, and for your soul, like water flowing endlessly
And perhaps my love for you, on a mountainside streaming like a river.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Suffocation
Last night I had the weirdest dream
I dreamt that I was lying in bed
With this girl whose hair was
As black as the night and as
Thick as a forest,
And her hair, her hair was
Smothering me
Or at least, I thought it was
Her hair,
Until I noticed it was her hands
Running over my face,
My lips
My eyes
My cheeks.
As hot as the desert
And smooth as silk
But pressing down
Pressing me into my pillow
Until I could see nothing
But the pink of her skin
And I thought,
Im gunna die
Those hands are gunna
Kill me
Until I realized really,
It wasn’t hands,
But lips,
Sucking the air from mine
Engulfing my last breath
And drawing it into her being
And I thought, well,
At least lips are
A nice way to go
Until finally I came
To my goddamn senses
And I realized,
I realized it wasn’t her lips
But the words coming
From those sweet lips
That was suffocating me
And it was “I love you”
I was choking on
Not her hair, hands or lips
At all.
poem by Nick Downer
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Where Beauty Lives In Memory
She stands before the mirror
Smiles at her reflection
Striking sexy poses in the glass
She paints her lips a brilliant red
Piles her hair high on her head
Struggles to replace a false eyelash
She powders up her face
Paints her cheeks to match her lips
She wears a dress cut low in the front
Fittin? tight around her hips
And there inside her room
She stands and gazes at herself
Where beauty lives in memory
She lives in fairy tales
Chorus:
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Whos the fairest of them all
She sings as she goes waltzing? cross the floor
She keeps a candle burning
And she waits for his returning
When beauty lives in memory
It lives forevermore
She was a fairy princess once
And was by all adored
They say she was the fairest of them all
They called her cinderella
And they say that every fella
Would gladly answer to her beck and call
So the story went
They tell of how this handsome prince
Stole her heart and wandered far away
He took her heart and took her mind
Now she has lost all track of time
Forty years has passed and still she waits singing
Repeat chorus
Meanwhile back inside her room
The shads are pulled its half past noon
But in her mind why its forty years ago
She recalls the beauty of their love
She remembers he was beautiful
And of course she always knew she was
And so the past unfolds
And all at once inside her mind
She sees him at the door
And as hes leading her away
She feels the room begin to sway
Where beauty lives in memory
She falls dead upon the floor
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Even Her Shadow Shares Her Beauty
Even her shadow shares her beauty,
Insomuch as it shows us her form.
A gentle lass, not proud and not snooty,
Her laughter so kind and so warm.
Her posture, her stance and her manner,
Each gesture reflecting her style,
Composure, and even her glamour,
Her lips and her mouth and her smile....
Her hair as it nestles her shoulders,
Cascading like gossamer threads,
Her arms as they sweetly enfold us,
Her fingers caressing our heads.
Her figure that beckons us closer,
Attracts us to ever draw near,
To taste of her lips like ambrosia,
When perfect love casts out our fear.
Behold how her shadow shows glory,
Her essence, her being, her all.
It tells us the truth of her story,
Her life, in real time, on the wall.
I'd rather kiss her than her shadow,
I'd rather be wed to her heart...
I'd rather be father to children I'd know,
A parent new life to impart.
I'd rather reach out to caress her,
Undress her, make love and be blessed.
While shadows grant limited pleasure,
Her body is truly the best...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Cutting edge
Like a sharp knife
cutting through a bitter lemon
into red lips dripping
the hairdresser takes my pleasantries,
chops them with a cruel hand,
throws them back in pieces in my face
snip snip into blond hair, brown hair, black, grey, white,
what heroic restraint, condemned
to a lifetime’s cutting, and not
to plunge the scissors into a spinal cord…
this little girl who cut her finger with
her mother’s scissors perhaps
to try to explain how they cut her heart
her love that would grow like hair
how can I know the heart
of this woman who cuts my hair
so expertly.. snip, snip..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Tonight I Draw Your Hair
Tonight I draw your hair,
A hair of simplicity,
With a mysterious beauty,
That no one can ever resist,
A hair that blooms with the sun,
That always shines every sunrise,
And turns into deep black at sunset,
A hair of smooth silk,
That touches my face like a baby,
And comforts my soul into a sleeping baby,
Like the lullaby that can put me into sleep,
Your hair blooms unlike any other.
-GanNi
poem by Geovanni Leaño
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