Let's Voyage Into The New American House
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.
There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.
There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.
There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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Related quotes
A Need For A New House....Or Home...
early morning
when the doors are still closed and the windows still tipsy
like the whole house
you fly away
the sun comes out with the clouds
early morning you fly away
away from it all
the clouds are floors and grasses
and you are a lonely bird among a flock of chairs
early morning you fly away
thinking about nothing
you fly away and you feel like a leaf inside
that gentle beast
it is a ride-awA Need For A New House....Or Home...ay
among the paradoxes of life
and its ironies
early morning there is this flight that takes you to a stop-over
of your life
no one knows that you are grieving
over a search for what you feel
the one you had which you lost
intentionally
among the flock of chairs landing early morning
on unstable floors
early morning you take a cab
you choose still
which house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Line Of Control
They come to see us
In the company of winds and rains
Their whispers are heard
Besides the doors
And empty corridors are filled
With the shimmering garments and scented bodies.
Leaping over the walls, slipping down the roofs and sun shades
Walking with voiceless steps like the shadows of clouds
Eyes see them crossing the silence
Of half paved courtyards
Far from reach
Moving towards measureless distances.
The windows yawn with mouth agape
And ponder on that;
Overthrowing the earth, nestled comfortably on its breast
Looking triumphantly towards the sky
These mountains, beyond them
There must be a lake
And birds and nimbus clouds
And thickets of trees running into each other
Uneven grassy plains
Herds of sheep and lonely shepherds
And pathways running far away
There must be some village, some city
Or some other country
Where some other poet (like myself) lives
Writing verses!
Demarcation is easy on parchments
A few dots and lines delimitate
Mountains, rills, streams, sloping grounds
Fields, settlements, jurisdictions, ownerships and regions
Passes and secret paths
Even forts and battlements with rows of iron - clad heads
Can be drawn.
But while pointing out the shadows overstepping the walls
Extending to doors, windows, courtyards
And the silence spread up to the remote recesses of the hearts,
The sun and rain change their hue
On the ground plan.
(Translated from Urdu into English by Prof. Ghulam Jilani Asghar)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Country Aint Country
He was raised on a tractor in overalls and boots
Been to college and then law school since leaving his roots
Came home in a lexus,he left in a ford
Country aint country no more
He told his daddy catch up with the times
He said now a days people trade heifers online
Dad aint selling deals with a handshake like before
Country aint country no more
No,country aint country no more
The back forty was sold to make up for hard times
Then sold by the half acre lot overnight
The houses went up and the trees were cut down
And there went the finest deer hunting around
Lord everyones locking their doors
cause country aint country no more
Now his dad sits in traffic looking round at the change
Watching crews turn the county road into four lanes
The old sunday drive has turned into a chore
Country aint country no more
Lord,country aint country no more
The back forty was sold to make up for hard times
Then sold by the half acre lot overnight
The houses went up and the trees were cut down
And there went the finest deer hunting around
Lord everyones locking their doors
cause country aint country no more
Theres no turning back
And you just cant ignore
That country aint country no more
No,country aint country no more
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happiness
The great stone Hall is silent
that is now millennia old.
Through the western windows
shines a glorious sun.
It floods the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
and illumines every one
until the wraiths that gather
cry out in their joy,
'Everything is gold!
Whatever is, is gold! '
A majestic cloud
emerges from the southern sea,
slides across the western sky
blotting out the sun.
Light through those western windows
pales to a thin grey day.
It dims the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
pales every one
until the wraiths in the shadows
cry out in dismay,
'Gone is gold, the gold is gone!
All joy has passed away! '
poem by Brian Taylor
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In The Ashes!
break out the windows,
kick down the doors!
stack all the old furniture...
and set fire to it!
the windows....
...through which we stared at life
......safe from its touch!
the doors....
....we closed in our fear
......of who we are
.......and what we see
...........in each other.
the furniture....
....we sat on and laid on
.......while the cries of the struggling
.........and the hands of the hungry
.............reached out...
the fire....
...that burns apathy with pure compassion
.......burns the lie of self till we find
.........the faces of God in the ashes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Solitude Souls
The blacktop road is shining smooth
Empty trash bins mocking the truth
Grown up trees remain in mute
Golden leaves look so cute
Wind works-out on closed windows
Sky chats with the shut doors
Clouds tease with Concrete groves
Majestic houses on all the floors
Locked inside the concrete walls
Comforts, Cash and zombie hearts?
As far as my eye could see
My street is totally empty!
I search with frenzy
If my shadow is with me..
A distant twilight's mockery
'Solitude Souls live here free
Like those in a cemetry! '
poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Inveteracies...
a heap of dry leaves
under the trees
trees like fingers
stretching to reach
the moon
on the marshes
of the big river
the full moon sits
silently
a dog barks
this morning
at the wrong person
someone calls my
name but i do not dare
look back
promises are
feet without floors
faith is always
a blind item
and people accept
them always to
be true
and all giving
and
reliable
blank walls
speak too much
doors close
at the wrong hours of the
day
windows imitating
the natural
beauty of some
sexless eunuchs
facing the monitor
i am the nuclear
sun
threatening the room
that the explosion
is near
the dusts run in panic
the winds
stir the pebbles into
rebellion
etcetera is when
you do not know what is next
from your
self-proclaimed
knowledgeability
30.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heart That Rots...
Stuck between the frames and the doors,
Stuck between the frames and the windows,
Stuck those lizards to die and decompose,
Sometimes not even noticed,
Sometimes not even smelled,
Sometimes the skin and skeletons are found,
Stuck between the life and responsibilities,
Stuck between love and commitments,
Many hearts face their early death,
Just like the lizards stuck between the doors,
Not even noticed, not even understood,
Not even cared and left to rot for life.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Stage
See the mountains with glorious peaks
Rivers below sigh with eternities flow
Ancient clouds hue with lavender dusk
Mornings mysterious fog floats on lakes
Meadows filled with timeless wild flowers
Cliffs and waterfalls feeding sweet springs
Hear the sea with its rhythmic waves
Blue green water of abundant life
By the shoreline of endless sky
I have prayed on a forests enchanting path
Listen to the swirl of the tops of tall trees
Fall colors of soft red fire and golden joy
We come as strangers from the stars
We get just a short awakening glimpse
Then go back to the sleeping dust
Who has set this wondrous stage?
No one should wreck a child's awe
I have felt the mystical chills
Tillers of the garden, lovers of life
Lets leave it clean for our grandchildren
Lets gather together and protect this gift
Tonight the moon shines like a Saint
Stars surround her like a halo
She peaks her ivory face through trees
Dawn comes with a sun of grand hope
Flowers reach for creations light
Beauty in nature should be preserved
We all pass but the stage remains
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Digestive Darkness And Light
life is a mixture of light, darkness and truth
but are you digested on them?
digest what you see
digest what you feel
digest what you smell
digest what you touch
digest what you eat
digest what you think
digest what you speak
and you will be a truth by yoursekf
but but but but but but but but but
NEVER DIGEST YOUR DREAM
We, How Can We Be Lonely?
We. How can we claim that we are lonely?
We raise their skirts, we grow among the wild flowers
We are taking the climb of mountains and trees
We make windows, and raise brick walls, and
Slide on wooden floors
We are sustained by our laughter and whistling
On those threatening days
Until this day
Not thinking that we end, or that days fold up
And lay hidden in the cabinets of silence
This cup
How can this be empty? How can life diminish?
We fill this up, we make it overflow its brim.
We make life the way we must.
We are strong and determined.
We believe in ourselves.
We believe in the force within us.
With God, who can be against us?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autobiography
My father made the walls resound,
He wore his collar the wrong way round.
When I was five the black dreamscame;
Nothing after was quite the same.
When I woke they did not care;
Nobody, nobody was there.
In my childhood trees were green
And there was plenty to be seen.
When my silent terror cried,
Nobody, nobody replied.
I got up; the chilly sun
Saw me walk away alone.
My mother wore a yellow dress;
Gentle, gently, gentleness.
The dark was talking to the dead;
The lamp was dark beside my bed.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
poem by Louis Macneice
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Purple World
in a purple world
lavender clouds
a violet day
dusk pool
shadowy trees
black grasses
sickle moon
gray mountains
tiny stars
reflected on the lake
let me ask you
were you there once?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Purpose
Tall trees touch the sun,
As the moon follows behind,
Lost inside of a rainbow.
The sun’s rays fail to dispel the darkness,
Although
It may be very early morning.
Leaves on the trees are
Small cupped hands, which
Cling to branches of unreality.
They hold dewdrops,
Tears of naiads
Lost in the storm of their
Abject misery,
Destined as they were
To reach heaven someday
Too far to travel from
Their homes amongst the woodlands.
One could have been myself,
Rising early, at daybreak
Each and every morning,
I would venture outward to
Walk the same rugged pathway
Uphill and down,
Winding about myriads of trees,
Some that would scrape the sky and others
Fallen by many a windstorm-
In my dream I would board a small jet plane,
Fluorescent in its color,
Headed towards the heavens, as it
Would travel through the forest at dawn-
Perhaps, I thought at one time,
This could be a different kind of a journey-
Now I know,
I am none but a lost soul,
With no purpose in life,
Awakening every single day
Only to voyage outward,
To follow the sun…
I may capture each moment in time,
Loving every tree and being mesmerized by
The sight of young deer grazing and then leaping
Through the brush, and
Although so in love with nature,
My life is none but static-
Listening to the same lullaby
Day and night, though soothing as it may be, and
Seeing the world through the eyes of a dreamer,
This phantasmal life is without change or purpose-
Perhaps I should be grateful that the sun
Does not hide its face and
Someday I may lose myself inside the clouds that decorate the sky,
Follow the moon towards midnight’s passage, hide
Inside that rainbow captured and
Lose myself in a
Different realm of time…
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Whose Garden Was This?
This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the whose garden was this? album, and has also been released on the changes album.
Whose garden was this
It must have been lovely
Did it have flowers
Ive seen pictures of flowers
And Id love to have smelled one
Whose river was this
You say it ran freely
Blue was its colour
And Ive seen blue in some pictures
And Id love to have been there
Tell me again, I need to know
The forest had trees, the meadows were green
The oceans were blue
And birds really flew
Can you swear that its true
Whose grey sky was this
Or was it a blue one
You say they were breezes
Ive heard records of breezes
And Id love to have felt one
Tell me again, I need to know
The forest had trees, the meadows were green
The oceans were blue
And birds really flew
Can you swear that its true
Whose garden was this
It must have been lovely
Did it have flowers
Ive seen pictures of flowers
And Id love to have smelled one
Tell me again, I need to know
Tell me again, I need to know
Tell me again, I need to know
Words and music by tom paxton
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Not Afraid Of Emptiness
i may not have told you, but now i will tell it to you
three times,
girl, i am not afraid of emptiness
the one that walks upon you when you were once this huge
space like a Gothic church with doors like mountains and windows
like continents
the sound of emptiness reverberates like a tin cup
that falls on the iron rails of this room
it fills every nerve that coils upon itself and forms a hand gripping
for waterfalls
it closes the ears and rips every rational entries that your eyes
write in the pages of your journal
it encloses you like a mental jacket of that new patient
at ward 6,
it walls you in like you are a chair inside the congested kitchen
look, who likes the congestion of the spirits?
who likes the choking of the nicks of time?
who likes a light imprisoned in its own flames
burning itself upon itself like a candle consuming both of its ends?
who like the mezzanine filled with letters that you keep
containing love stories of suicide and escape?
look upon your face too crowded with your senses?
it is a forest with trees killing each other for an ounce of light
roots upon roots and leaves upon leaves this world is too crowded
with unraveling thoughts
i am not afraid of emptiness
i like my windows opening all the days of my life
i like doors without locks
stairs without rails, houses without walls and roofs
i live in open space and yes right here inside my heart
i thrive in its empty spaces without the nerves and the veins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Typhoon Last Night
the typhoon last night
was devastating
it was strong and prolonged
the roof almost gave way
the windows about to be flown away
the floors shook
and the walls about to break
we hug for comfort
we prayed together
and curled together
we intertwined like vines
on the tree
that morning after
i am thinking about our intimacy
tested by storm and darkness
and i say to myself, perhaps i need
another storm for proof
i still could not believe how we made it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Morning Song Of Senlin
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face!—
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea. . .
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me. . .
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.
It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, I tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains. . .
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor. . .
. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know. . .
Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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