Yours Is Too Crude
i felt the surface
yours is crude, too superficial
but i do not mind
i keep touching it and slide
my hands around
the edges of your thing
and then i reflect upon
what i have been doing
yes, yours is more like mine
crude, superficial
straightforward, and
flowing
soft like sky blue linens
and cheap for the mindless public
but we continue doing it
day by day
truly, sincerely, and
therapeutically
what we do
does not kill us anyway
in any way
we have found expression
in words
and pity (and love perhaps?)
yet look at us
we do not appear as beggars
wearing dark glasses
and holding a tin can on our hands
we are here
to speak but i guess
we never beg
for ears
we have legs to stand
throughout this agony
and then the children
come around us
wondering if we are humans
confused if they too shall be like us
everyday we keep repeating
what we are
and then the world knows
but keeps on spinning
the morning light still lands
on the lines of our open palms
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Superficial Society
So I'm not good enough to hang out with your friends
You say it's a bluff, it's no lie
You want to be cool and hang with both sides
But what would they say, I'm the fool
It's a superficial society
It's a bunch of bullshit can't you see
Why wouldn't you wake up to reality
I guess backstabbing ain't the way of life for me
Open your mind and close your eyes
To the things that really persist
It's not your hair or the things you wear
That makes someone socially exist
It's hard to find yourself sometimes
Around the people with a cool policy
Why don't you let yourself unwind
And leave that lame society
Superficial society
Superficial society
Superficial society
It's all superfical to me
Superficial society
Superficial society
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Patteran
From over the leagues of ice and snow, and the miles of scorching sand;
From back of the days of long ago, and the lonely sea and land—
To the end of the world and our Gipsy race, to the death of our dark-eyed line,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine,
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine—
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
I have given them health and strength, pure blood, clear skins for a glorious youth;
I have set in their souls contempt for sham, and a deathless regard for truth;
I have bequeathed the spirit to fight, I have given the will to rise,
And the slumbering fires of Hate and Love in their dreaming, dreaming eyes.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
I have given the love for their native land, wherever that land may be
(My children came from the East, my friends, and round by the Northern Sea),
And a son of a son of mine enemy, to the end of his treacherous line,
Shall be stricken to earth, if he dare but speak, by a son of a son of mine.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine.
poem by Henry Lawson
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(Better) Done Than Said
(better) done than said
the sounds between the lines
of the words i speak
reminds me of the lines
i spoke in thought and trials
and the lines
within the sounds of spoken word
touched mine heart
mine dreadlocks started skanking in joy
of the music in mine thought
but til done, i thought
next to mine were time and rhythm
for less than never it were missing
the sense to do than say
and mine legs kept me in transit
mine hands touched to pick a way
whence my eyes long seen
besides, talk were amass
done; far less
than which that caught mine
til done, i do and did
done than said
the inner mine person done me
a thought to catch mine power
and grab to proceed a synergy of our
own belief to mine self and stronger
than the sounds behind the lines
of the words i speak
but from the deep lines
of the metaphor, line by talk
with mine hands holding that thought
to keep it moving and done
long before said, as done
opn01112012/0849
poem: (better) done than said
'roots of mine tree' book no.12 of 2012
november 2012
ntema's unique poetry
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Mine
O HOW my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
And I drink up joy like wine:
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the lovely girl is mine!
She's rich, she's fair, beyond compare,
Of noble mind, serene and kind--
And how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the lovely girl is mine!
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
In a music soft and fine;
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine.
She owns no lands, has no white hands,
Her lot is poor, her life obscure;--
Yet how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Hands Across The Sea
(findon/wilkins)
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
Touching everybody, joining you and me
If we could build a new horizon
Id like to see some changes made
When nations hear the voice of reason
And all the world live unafraid
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
People joined as one, innocent and free
And well have love, love and sympathy
Touching everybody, joining you and me
If we could share that new tomorrow
You with your troubles, me with mine
Then we could face the world together
With open heart and easy mind
And therell be hands, hands across the sea
People joined as one, innocent and free
And well have love, love and sympathy
Touching everybody, joining you and me
Hands across the sea
Hands across the sea
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obsession (revised)
to believe that there are heights to my own glory
is no longer possible.
On that day in that room, where they wear
all their thick glasses, their hands have already done
what should not have been done.
I was weak, and my mouth did not open.
They kill every poem i had in my palms.
They were doves.
They said they were bats.
Black bats.
No, i said they are the whitest doves i have.
They are even angels.
They were laughing.
Some giggled.
And they
said, 'Crucify him, crucify him! '
IT was an obsession.
That i have butterflies on my hair.
That there were
red roses in my fingers.
There were none, in fact.
What i had are mere words.
Syllables of my survival.
When i left that room, i did not admit that it was my mistake.
Far from that,
i look again at my hands in the mirror,
and i saw
vines, fragile tendrils, and they are so alive, like
dragonflies.
One understands somehow, that we write, not because we want
to have a brand, a name, a tattoo
a heart, a rose, an arrow, blood dripping
NO. That is not so. We write because we are here and our fingers
are always incomplete.
We press our palms on our chest and we say
Look i love myself, and this all i got.
Let me write and let it all be about me.Not for those thick glasses
Inside that room.Their rules are not mine.
I have mine only to give.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hot Legs
(rod stewart)
Whos that knocking on my door
Its gotta be a quarter to four
Is it you again coming round for more
Well you can love me tonight if you want
But in the morning make sure youre gone
Im talkin to you
Hot legs, wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, are you still in school
I love you honey
Gotta most persuasive tongue
You promise all kinds of fun
But what you dont understand
Im a working man
Gonna need a shot of vitamin e
By the time youre finished with me
Im talking to you
Hot legs, youre an alley cat
Hot legs, you scratch my back
Hot legs, bring your mother too
I love you honey
Imagine how my daddy felt
In your jet black suspender belt
Seventeen years old
Hes touching sixty four
You got legs right up to your neck
Youre making me a physical wreck
Im talking to you
Hot legs, in your satin shoes
Hot legs, are you still in school
Hot legs, youre making me a fool
I love you honey
Hot legs, making your mark
Hot legs, keep my pencil sharp
Hot legs, keep your hands to yourself
I love you honey
Hot legs, youre wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, youre still in school
I love you honey
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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80
the new light has come from on my jalousie windows
the first thing i do in the morning is write my new poem
borne of the night
too weary to dream
but this poem keeps on stalking
always wanting to be written
write,
stare to space and let that stare linger for a while
like gathering some dust in air
or spraying the air with your shower of thoughts
speak
to yourself
like reminding yourself with words that have become too unfamiliar
because they are not spoken
words too get impatient and jealous
because of unuse
and furious too because of abuse
words too have lives of their own
and even feelings of their own
so you are telling me
be cautious be too patient and considerate
be compassionate
be strong
be happy be prayerful
i write the words again
on the positive side of things
the happier
hopeful categories
i open some shutters
slide some thoughts
inser my gaze and
spread some scrutinies
i am seeing a new light
from the jalousies
it is the soft morning light
and i really like it
i stand still and look
above this room
down to the things
below me
i see people moving
wearing the uniform
to their offices
they go
i almost forget,
it is a working day also for me.
the morning light has enticed me again,
i repeat, my friend, i still like it
here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The New Light Has Come From On My Jalousie Windows
the first thing i do in the morning is write my new poem
borne of the night
too weary to dream
but this poem keeps on stalking
always wanting to be written
write,
stare to space and let that stare linger for a while
like gathering some dust in air
or spraying the air with your shower of thoughts
speak
to yourself
like reminding yourself with words that have become too unfamiliar
because they are not spoken
words too get impatient and jealous
because of unuse
and furious too because of abuse
words too have lives of their own
and even feelings of their own
so you are telling me
be cautious be too patient and considerate
be compassionate
be strong
be happy be prayerful
i write the words again
on the positive side of things
the happier
hopeful categories
i open some shutters
slide some thoughts
inser my gaze and
spread some scrutinies
i am seeing a new light
from the jalousies
it is the soft morning light
and i really like it
i stand still and look
above this room
down to the things
below me
i see people moving
wearing the uniform
to their offices
they go
i almost forget,
it is a working day also for me.
the morning light has enticed me again,
i repeat, my friend, i still like it
here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Open Palms
morning demands
the laying of open palms
on the table
and the palms agree
and then the wind comes
and took all the lines away
the hands do not mind
this is the last day of the body
the heart is full of joy
the mind has no word
the eyes close
and the lips finally sealed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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He Wore Dark Sun glasses
The sun it was not shining and dark gray were the skies
Yet he wore dark sun glasses for to conceal his eyes
From the gaze of other people what was he trying to hide
Since to the mirror of his soul daylight he had denied.
Or maybe his eyes are sensitive to light so dark glasses at all times he must wear
Since seeing one wearing dark glasses on a cloudy morning is quite rare
In sunny weather many wear dark glasses to save their eyes from the sun's glare
On bright and warm Summer days of the sun one must beware.
This morning in the wind and rain it did seem strange to me
A young man wearing dark sun glasses out walking I did see
On such an overcast day sunglasses did seem out of place
If you cannot see a person's eyes you cannot memorize their face.
He may have eyes sensitive to light and have to wear dark glasses every day
But when I said hello to him he had nothing to say
If you cannot see a person's eyes to you that person a stranger remain
And I would not recognize his face were I to see him again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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The Here And Now
for the meantime take the here and now
what choice do we have?
we are beggars we have nothing
we were taken here
without our knowing we were naked
we were spanked on the very first hour of our arrival
in mother' bed in that cheap government hospital
there were no fathers or priests or
politicians
they heard our first cry
and since then
life begins to have no meaning
what we have is the here and now
but will that be an end? a misdemeanor? will that be a burden
forever? a curse?
a suffering that is senseless
a sorrow that is soaring and roaring?
the here and now is in our palms
look at it closely, there are tiny lines there
the directions and instructions are there
embedded
we shall trace where we are and where we are going
in the tiny lines of our palms
we locate our hidden fortunes we shall find where the secret lies
the real meaning
of this existence and if need be
we must create and invent what we will be
in the future
let us see from our feelings the coolness of blue
the fires of red
the clouds, the sun and the moon all lie in the hold of our hands
from this here and now
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Got Too Much
Writer Dolly Parton
From Album Real Love
We got too much of a good thing goin'
We got too much to let it slide
We got too much of a feelin' flowing
We got too much, got too much to let it die
Whatcha try'n to tell me, boy?
Whatcha try'n to do to me?
You know you're my pride and joy
Don't leave me now, don't leave me now
Around you my world revolves
Its a problem we can solve
Can it really be so involved we can't work it out?
We'll work it out
'Cause we got too much of a good thing goin'
We got too much to let it slide
Yeah we got too much of a feelin' flowing
We got too much, got too much to let it die
Won't you talk to me tonight?
Let me hold you and love you right
Nobody's gonna know those eyes
The way I do, I do know you
Maybe she's your fantasy
She can't love you more than me
Just touch me and you will see
You're forever mine, forever mine
'Cause we got too much of a good thing goin'
We got too much to let it slide
Yeah we got too much of a feelin' flowing
We got too much, got too much to let it die
Tell me what it is you want, what it is you need
What it is that I ain't that I should be
I'll play your games, I'll be your fool
If you want me to learn, then take me to school
Maybe I'll show you
We got too much of a good thing goin'
We got too much to let it slide
Yeah we got too much of a feelin' flowing
We got too much, got too much to let it die
Yeah we got too much, we got too much
We got too much, we got too much
We got too much, we got too much
We got too much, got too much to let it die
We got too much of a good thing goin'
We got too much to let it slide
Yeah we got too much of a feelin' flowing
We got too much, got too much to let it die
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Praying Hands
I had a dream with my lord CHRIST
He touched my head, not once but twice.
I felt my body jump up in bed
I saw the nail holes in his hands that bled.
I felt the power of his healing hands
He showed it to me so I could understand.
With faith in our hearts he will heal
And his hands you will feel.
I awoke that morning with the spirit inside
Those praying hands I had to find.
I found a figurine of his hands
And put it upon my night stand.
In my prayers that I say day and night
I squeeze those hands with all my might.
Now when I feel life s pressures are getting me down
I touch those hands that I had found.
And when I feel an ailment or two
Then I know what I must do.
I touch those hands and say a prayer
This is the bond that we share.
There is no other feeling like the love of GOD
When you have him in your heart.
poem by Louis Rams
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Darkness In My Mind
The darkness on this man within
Human nature burdens this soul
Covered by a superficial skin
And yet still dark as a whole.
The darkness crowds this room
Covers every inch of this mans heart
Its natural, yet brutally soon
Still dark, which will never depart.
The darkness in my mind
A sense of all for one
barbaric, uncivil and unkind
Still dark, it can never be undone.
This superficial cloth
is as thin as paper in the rain
A transparent and pointless emboss
And still I'm dark, all the same.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Waning Life (Terzenella)
When you opened your eyes you found you’re old!
Your dreams remained unfulfilled, thoughts still crude;
Wizened, your hands are quivering with cold! !
Not long before you were in sprightly mood.
You thought of wading through the oceans blue.
Your dreams remained unfulfilled, thoughts still crude.
Of life and death you thought of finding clues!
To end the wars and find the peace, you mused! !
You thought of wading through the oceans blue! ! !
Now mind is creased; imagery is bruised;
Your pen is blunt and papers turned brittle!
To end the wars and find the peace, you mused! !
You churned and creamed the life, but too little!
When you opened your eyes you found you’re old! !
Your pen is blunt and papers turned brittle;
Wizened, your hands are quivering with cold! ! !
poem by Sathya Narayana
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My Hands
my hands have ten rivers
there are furrows of sorrows in the destiny of my palms
no mountain peaks to view the world
holistically,
my hands have ten crystal clear ponds
my hands mirror my face
my hands surrender
my hands open
they are all yours too and you are so cruel
you are telling me like you detest me in the residence of your full moon
you do not need rivers, you had enough of my surrender, you are ashamed
of open hands, you touch me and then you make a plea
'please close your hands and with your ten rivers, please sail away from me! '
i know what a full moon is. I too had enough of its light and silence.
i have the nerves of the stars, and i know what sailing away means.
let me thank you for your dark skies, your clouds are too heavy for me.
i am raining tears, too salty for my ten rivers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You may think me crude, and probably I am crude, but I am not so crude as I was, for I am clever enough to see that the girl of nineteen who thought herself a genius was only an unusual girl writing her heart out.
quote by Mary MacLane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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