What Do You Do About Dry Periods In Your Writing?
When the writing is going well,
I am a prince in a desert palace,
fountains flowing in the garden.
I lean an elbow on a velvet pillow
and drink from a silver goblet,
poems like a banquet
spread before me on rugs
with rosettes the damask of blood.
But exiled
from the palace, I wander --
crawling on burning sand,
thirsting on barren dunes,
believing a heartless mirage no less true
than palms and pools of the cool oasis.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Richard Jones
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Island In The Sand
You are walking across the desert,
under a hot blazing sun;
you eyes search the horizon
for an oasis somewhere.
Places of palm trees,
and a pool of cool water there,
a little island in the sand.
Finally you see something,
you run headlong towards it,
dive into the cool water.
This is what you think you see,
but you end up bathing in the hot sand,
it is only a mirage you see.
Love can also be,
very much like that,
island in the sand.
Once you get close,
it may also disappear.
14 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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Crackerbox Palace
I was so young when I was born
My eyes could not yet see
And by the time of my first dawn
Somebody holding me . . . they said
I welcome you to crackerbox palace
Weve been expecting you
You bring such joy in crackerbox palace
No matter where you roam know our love is true
While growing up or trying to
Not knowing where to start
I looked around for someone who
May help reveal my heart - someone said
While youre a part of cracerbox palace
Do what the rest all do
Or face the fact that crackerbox palace
May have no other choice than to deport you
I welcome you to crackerbox palace
Weve been expecting you
You bring us joy in crackerbox palace
No matter where you roam know our love is true
Sometimes are good . . . sometimes are bad
Thats all a part of life
And standing in between them all
I met a mr. grief - and he said
I welcome you to crackerbox palace
Was not expecting you
Lets rap and tap at crackerbox palace
Know that the lord is well and inside of you
(chorus)
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Wait
the desert does not end
as a desert per se
beyond these faceless sand dunes
there is always a shore
where our feet can taste
the sea again
beyond the sea is another
sunless horizon
a cool evening
a breezy affair
another conversation of
two lonely people
converging again
remembering what once
was an island
a lagoon with parakeets
coconut trees
and free flowing falls
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Story Teller
The story tellers
of different language
of different clothes
of different color
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace.
People gathered around
and listen
to the story teller
who has the most beautiful face
and dressed like a princess.
One young man
dressed like a beggar
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace
but no one came to listen.
Night comes
and the young man rides his horse
back to the palace
the young man...
is the missing prince.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Mirage
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
Is your love darling just a mirage?
From the distance, you call to me like an oasis
Though your kisses, keep drawing me near
Is your love a mirage that will disappear?
Like a man in the desert, Im lost
Is this dream just a trick of my imagination
Though I thirst for your lips, night and day
Is your love a mirage that will fade away?
How I pray, heaven answered my prayer
When I reach out for you, youll be there
In the search for my love will be through
Like a dream a mirage, will come true
How I pray, heaven answered my prayer
When I reach out for you, youll be there
In the search for my love will be through
Like a dream a mirage, will come true
A mirage, a mirage, a mirage
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Refusal
MINE is a palace fair to see,
All hung with gold and silver things,
It is more glorious than a king's,
And crownèd queens might envy me.
Ah, no, I will not let you in!
Stay rather at the gates and weep
For all the splendour that I keep,
The treasures that you cannot win.
While you desire and I refuse,
For both the palace still is here--
Its turrets gold, its silver gear
Are yours to wish for--mine to use.
But if I let you in, I know
The spell would break, the palace fade,
And we stand, trembling and afraid,
Lost in the dark where chill winds blow.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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0332 How were they to know?
Yes, how were they to know,
searching in the heat of forenoon dunes,
those high hills of sand
where once the forests grew,
now a rhythm of burnt sunned, cool shadowed, mock horizons,
- they, searching for the camel which had strayed -
and finding there, a man sitting still, cross-legged
in the sand upon a small strip
of faded coloured carpet,
palm of hand crossed in palm of hand,
and in the palm of his upraised right hand,
one grain of sand
and who, as they approached,
did not shift his gaze from that one grain;
and yet they sensed that he sensed them;
better let him be, he knows what he’s about,
or if he’s mad, at least he’s quietly purposeful…
how were they to know
that as he gazed, the universe he saw
in that one grain of sand then
grew inside of him? till it filled itself,
like a sand-clock, as the last grain
falls from the upper to
the lower, and all is still again
as measured time stops still
amid the sands of time?
how were they to know
as that small figure against the desert sand
his cloak still burning to the touch,
returned to the oasis, as the red-hot sun
sank below the dramatic shadow of the furthest dune,
and later, sitting by the green palms and papyrus reeds,
the camels head down, humped around the welcome pool,
one child, then many children,
then grown men, asked him their questions;
and the answers, as the night folded in
below more stars than anyone could count,
drew the circle of cross-legged silent listeners
- occasionally, urgent voiced with a lifetime’s pressing question -
as if some grain of sand became in their mind too
totality; the universe.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Camel
I am like a camel wandering in a harsh and unforgiving desert. The heat manipulates my eyesight. The dunes warp and twirl subtly in front of me. I wonder to myself if whether or not the world has dried up, for I haven't seen water in miles and miles. My tongue lies in my mouth, shriveling like a prune, pitted and lightly bathed in crisped saliva. My spit is thick, coating my gums and teeth as if it were a translucent tar. I am thirsty, walking aimlessly—searching for some sort of lost oasis which may or may not exist. There must be a fresh pool standing alone somewhere; I dream of it in my parched thoughts. My skin burns—golden brown and tanning, cracking similar to the dusty, torrid dirt under my feet. The sun beats down hard on the barren land. I long for softer soil, to feel my toes dig into the porous ground. I wish for an all-encompassing shade to swallow the desiccating heat and the dehydrated swat droplets lining my brow. Where are you my palm tree? Can't you save me from my muscles turning to sand that slips from the sides of my bones? I wander in the harsh and unforgiving desert with only the water I've stored in my body. One day, it will be gone and I may still be looking for you, my lost and beautiful oasis.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Girl From The Wadi Hammamat
Sometimes it seems like a beautiful dream
The girl from the wadi hammamat
Lovely as a green parakeet
I awake alone again
In the desert of my dreams
A fertile oasis I have seen
I cast my voice to the burning winds
Across the dunes khamsin khamsin
Bring her to me on desires wings
On the burning desert wind
She means the world to me
In a single grain of sand
Bring a camel to this man
Perched on a bough her tresses hang down
The girl from the wadi hammamat
She is as sweet as a green parakeet
Sometimes it seems like a beautiful dream
The girl from the wadi hammamat
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories of Summers Spent
For Faizil
I remember the sand dunes of Aniston
Eastwards on the south of the Western Cape coast
The blue skies hanging over
Illuminated by the burning sun
Within the sand dunes concealed
Lies the bones of shipwrecked sailors of yesteryear
Contrast of desert and ocean
Like two dimension woven in one
Dwarfed by the sands of time
I remember how we raced to the top of the dunes
Breathless without thought
Just the absolute carefree bliss of being children
The race down was a running and a tumbling
Our summers spent camping at Arniston
When finally at the bottom, we would lay exhausted
Panting, catching our breath
poem by Persian Khushi
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Dunes
oh! man. remember the day when you are born, the sky that
twinkle in your eyes, as the sea breeze, in the dunes of sand,
tranquil, in the luminous pavement of water beneath your
mother's tear
you have chatter the fears of death, of which the stings of pain,
labour in the weary sweat of your father hand has come to sprout
like orchards green of graves in the blue sky in your mother
dream
a dunes, that whisper the cool olive oil in the green leaves of
summer in the meadow of oasis of desert from the storm in the,
night of the skies, waiting to capture the smiling faces of your
loved father and mother cribs
like a cheddar, full of tasted cream of cheese, in every tongue,
awaits to capture the aroma of judgment in our hearts, so
especial, that every wind calls our spirit to mingle every direction
it brings
each pieces of sand, leads us to a place, where the emptied
soul, find its meaning of being one in the darkness of uncertainty
a call for, to follow the segment of our life in the course of nature
tranquility
life is what we make it, a wind that redirect us to focus ourselves,
the dunes of where we have to follow, where the cooled wind,
will brings to the sea of life everlasting
' let the dunes be, a dunes to other in the great blue ocean of God'
l
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Lonely Woman
she sings her songs
in the desert
time and again
those that hear her
under the moon
remember oasis
bridges and rivers
and seagulls and
date palms
wild birds in the safari
tigers and lions
with cubs
and forests never
before imagines
such a sad woman
wanting to free her people
from the loneliness
of the dunes
the cruelty of the sun at
noon
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Caravan
Moses went into the desert
Moses came back with the law
Jesus went into the desert
God only knows what he saw
Hitch up your ass and your camel
Fill up your skin at the well
Roll up your tent, whisper your prayers
Are you ready to ride through hell
Caravan moving through the night
Sleeping in the light of day
Caravan spinning through the void
On our way to anywhere
Caravan time is just a joke change is all we
Understand
Caravan life is a mirage,
Only a mirage dancing on the desert sand
How I recall all the mountains
How I remember the farm
Oh how I miss the big city
With a pretty girl on my arm
Sell my best friend for some water
Cut off my leg for some shade
Sunburn these thoughts from my memory
If I live I will be remade
The sand is like a razor
Slashing at my face
Everyones in panic but you cant see any place
Its a sand storm, taken by surprise
Hide beneath your wrappings and cover up your eyes
Well I lost my kit and camel
Maybe I will die
Feel so lost and helpless and I think Im gonna cry
Its a sand storm, nothing you can do
No one knows if it will last
No one knows if you will make it through
Its been so long without water
Vultures are filling the air
Where is that bloody oasis
Must be around here somewhere
Time for some strong meditation
Time for the ultimate change
Time to make peace with your maker
Everything has been prearranged
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign Window
I saw you from a foreign window
Bearing down the sufferin road
You were carryin your burden
To the palace of the lord
To the palace of the lord
I spied you from a foreign window
When the lilacs were in bloom
And the sun shone through your window pane
To the place you kept your books
You were reading on your sofa
You were singin every prayer
That the masters had instilled in you
Since lord byron loved despair
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
Bridge:
And if you get it right this time
You dont have to come back again
And if you get it right this time
Theres no need to explain
I saw you from a foreign
Bearing down the sufferin road
You were carryin your burden
You were singing about rimbaud
I was going down to geneva
When the kingdom had been found
I was giving you protection
From the loneliness of the crowd
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
They were giving you religion
Breaking bread and drinking wine
And you laid out on the green hills
Just like when you were a child
I saw you from a foreign window
You were trying to find your way back home
You were carrying your defects
Sleeping on a pallet on the floor
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
Etc etc...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Imagination
A gaunt and hoary slab of stone
I found in desert place,
And wondered why it lay alone
In that abandoned place.
Said I: 'Maybe a Palace stood
Where now the lizards crawl,
With courts of musky quietude
And turrets tall.
Maybe where low the vultures wing
'Mid mosque and minaret,
The proud pavilion of a King
Was luminously set.
'Mid fairy fountains, alcoves dim,
Upon a garnet throne
He ruled,--and now all trace of him
Is just this stone.
Ah well, I've done with wandering,
But from a blousy bar
I see with drunk imagining
A Palace like a star.
I build it up from one grey stone
With gardens hanging high,
And dream . . . Long, long ere Babylon
It's King was I.
poem by Robert William Service
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Buck House...
England attracts with one's view eyes
of tourists.
tall trees, water fountains and colour flags
are bouncing as in the water
as in the mirror.
To be in London and not to see the palace
it is incredible.
To learn his history
it to enter the palace in order
to hear whispers of walls, appliances
and senses hidden deep secrets and the ones
which stopped already being them...
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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Questions to Desert Wind…
You wonder,
Did the desert wind already forgotten to past?
No dearest, it has always blown so gently…
Crafting this dry open desert,
Shifting mystical sand dunes,
Bringing precious droplets to a thirsty bird,
To comfort her broken heart!
You further asked,
O desert wind…
Why erased my written message in the sand?
So let it be a permanent secret,
Cause I have already engraved it in my heart.
poem by Desert Life
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Yes, My Poems Are Imaginary
these poems tell about despair
and who will ever like despair? you grumble
why can't these poems have
happines as its theme
a poem that like a belly dancer must entertain
weary bedouins
oasis to the thirsty camels
cool green palms to travellers whose feet are dusty
and even blistered
grass to some snakes
and trees to black birds
rest for the night
tent and wine and bread and lyre to our passions
but do not worry my friend
these poems are imaginary
like a garden existing only in our minds
we transport some toads and butterflies
and clouds and sun and tonight
let us have the moon and some glasses of strong wine
let us put our bed outside
in this garden where the moon shines
and creates the silver sheen in our happy faces
we love illusions, we can have all the illusions we need
when we are drunk, when we dance when we are finally drunk
when we even want to make love
when we are drunk & when we make love and we do not choose
whom to kiss and caress and touch an unknown body
with our hands and lips and choose
what we remember and what we do not want to remember
now i want to write
about illusory gardens and imagine despair that despair
has no place and must leave right away
let me
do not hinder me write what i want
about what i can disown
but i assure you, whatever that is, these poems
i am talking to you, as a friend, and even be a lover at the end,
even if the rest are imaginary, and fiction and illusory
i am still real amidst this grumble and rubble
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chasing the endless...
Chasing the endless horizon.
The eyes of sun shape.
The sand glow dunes celebrate.
In her kiss, I found a desert of,
starry and dark, alternate nights.
In her tongue, a green oasis
of screaming, old rocks.
Breathless consciences
are feared mothers,
with wet eyes,
drunk of tears.
poem by Luca Menin
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On The Dunes
Drive along the sea
Far from the citys twitch and smoke
To a misty beach
Thats where my life became a joke
On the dunes
On the dunes
(became a joke on the dunes)
Where rents are high
And seabirds cry
On the dunes
As you spoke you must have known
It was a kind of homicide
I stood and watched my happiness
Drift outwards with the tide
On the dunes
On the dunes
(homicide on the dunes)
It wasnt fair
Its brutal there
On the dunes
Pretty boats
Sweeping along the shore
In the faltering light
Pretty women
With their lovers by their side
Its like an awful dream
I have most every night
In the summer all the swells
Join in the search for sun and sand
For me its just a joyless place
Where this loneliness began
On the dunes
On the dunes
(loneliness on the dunes)
Im pretty tough
But the wind is rough
On the dunes
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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