An ode to Russ Ligtas’ butoh performance -He[sit]ation
You came in you came and you came when all senses faint as your name yes your name is all there is to it as it goes as it went through unseen doors of histories of which are painted on walls that captivate you with all you do and what you’ve been through as you cringe and you escape a silent scream as a tinge of reminisce lighted your dark memories of where you sit of where you spit your st[r]ing of wordless narrative.
poem by Liyo Denorte
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Related quotes
Our loss was very heavy, especially in the officers. Capt. Sale, of Co. E, Duke's regt, was among the killed, making the third Capt. that has been killed in that company.
quote by John H. Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Since I've Come To My Senses
Giving up on my life,
To not sleep peacefully at night.
With a pacing of the floor...
Back and forth and uptight.
Not anymore.
Since I've come to my senses,
Open are those doors I've closed before.
Giving up on my dreams,
To witness them flow downstream...
Panicked.
Not anymore.
Since I've come to my senses,
Down came those fences...
And defenses raised.
Doing things for others to see them pleased,
With approval unshown...
They appreciated me.
Not anymore.
Since I've come to my senses.
I will not be accused,
For something done I did do.
To then feel used and psychologically abused...
With an inflicting of my own torment?
No!
Not anymore...
Since I've come to my senses.
Giving up on my life to feel accepted,
As a focused objective to have others reject...
No.
Not anymore.
I've closed those doors.
There are so many others I had to learn to open,
With a coming to my senses.
Before I prevented so much I now can see.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A narrative is like a room on whose walls a number of false doors have been painted; while within the narrative, we have many apparent choices of exit, but when the author leads us to one particular door, we know it is the right one because it opens.
quote by John Updike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Walls
If these walls could talk,
I wonder what what would they say
Would they thank me for being painted
Or will they ask me, to wash the paint away.
Would they tell me of the pictures
That once hung upon them their
Pictures that once adorn those walls
Or I wonder would they even care.
Would they speak upon the stories
That was heard within these walls
That no one else even knows about,
That is if the stories these walls could recall.
Was there children laughter all about
Or any secrets heard and being told
I wonder what have they listened to
And I wonder if anyone will ever know.
These walls inside this house
That for years have stood alone
With the stories that was told and heard
While this house had became a home.
The Sadness that they might had seen
And the worries and sorrow that they felt
Maybe they don't want to remember it at all
And maybe they too keep it bottled upon their self.
Were they painted to cover up secrets
Was they battered as to protect someone's lies
Or were they wallpapered to cover up the truth
And did they hear the whispers and the cries.
These walls they are still standing
Through the years of the days and nights
While listening and knowing all done and said
In the darkness and also in the light.
I look at these walls just one last time
As I head home from my walk,
How I wish I knew what they heard and know,
But that is, if these walls could only talk.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box
there are bomb? doors and there are revolving doors doors on the rudders of big ships and there are revolving doors there are doors that open by themselves there are sliding doors and there are secret doors there are doors that lock and doors that don't there are doors that let you in and out but never open but there are trap doors that you can't come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pull / Pulk Revolving Doors
There are barn doors
And there are revolving doors
Doors on the rudders of big ships
And there are revolving doors
There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that dont
There are doors that let you in
And out
But never open
But there are trapdoors
That you cant come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The histories of mankind are histories only of the higher classes.
quote by Thomas Malthus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pull Pulk Revolving Doors
There are barn doors
And there are revolving doors
Doors on the rudders of big ships
We are revolving doors
There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that don't
There are doors that let you in
And out
But never open
But they are trapdoors
That you can't come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deadlock
Mother! Tell me what is behind those doors
Late father averred there is a treasure
A microcosm of whole world’s splendour
An extravagent elegence of nature’s allure
But warned me not to open the doors
Unless and untill I am doubly sure
Mother wept and said, “It is a deadlock
By blunders of your forefathers; did choke”
Mother tell me what is behind those doors
I hear deadly thunders, shrieks and shouts
And plangent whimpers of unseen spirits
I smell something noisome and nausiating
As if coming from a mass burning of pyres
Whenever I look at those queer doors
My heart hammers with unknown terror
Why mother? Why? Tell me! Why?
What is behind those doors?
She sobbed and sobbed with wild shiver
And said, “It is our own Kashmir! ! ! ”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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San Antonio
san antonio
lead us to a place
where we are lost
and let us find
the way where we
can find our
way back home:
an empty space
a nothingness
a place where the
walls are not painted
where the doors are
not locked where the
windows look out
into an open universe
where all of us
are alive with living
fires where we become
shooting stars that
children see whose
mothers tell them:
make a wish!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Leaning On The Wall
you see me leaning
on the wall
you think that i am
about to faint
and you signal
if you can help
but i am quick
with my hand
waiving
no i am alright
i am feeling the wall
i am listening
to its ears
there is this
hardness on walls
that i like to know
there is this
silence of the walls
that i like to hear
from its very ears
you think i am
weak and sick
you think i am
the one that
darwin says
may be
exterminated
come to think of it
these walls
are the walls
built by my father
and his father's father
they feel my body
and they say
i am doing well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace, a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity, and if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it and see it still.
quote by Ronald Reagan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Paint It
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they are painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and its heading into black
Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts
Its not easy facing up when your whole world is black
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I wanna see it painted, painted black, oh
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted from the sky
Painted, painted, painted black oh baby
Painted painted, painted black
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hugh Everett's work has been described by many people in terms of many worlds, the idea being that every one of the various alternative histories, branching histories, is assigned some sort of reality.
quote by Murray Gell Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vision
There shall broad streets their stately walls extend;
Embellished villas crown the landscape scene,
Farms wave with gold, and orchards blush between
There shall tall spires and dome-capt towers ascend,
And piers and quays their massy structures blend;
While each breeze approaching vessels glide,
And northern treasures dance on every tide.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
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Masterpieces
Masterpieces
are not just found
in Paris Louvre
hung upon a wall
in Sistine Chapel
painted upon
ceiling old walls
masterpieces
can be frequent found
closer to sight home
hung in variant places
see all admission free
not just with two eyes
hear touch taste feel
absorb through senses
in skin caress breezes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Epics Are The History
Ancient stories are held as histories;
Recent histories are built as stories.
We are misled by both about the past
And what is perceived from it is a myth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Nobodys Child
Painted lady, stop that closin in on me,
Painted lady, youre supposed to be a dream,
Painted lady, you better stay away from me.
Painted lady, why you loosinin my tie,
Painted lady, whats that twinkle in your eye,
Painted lady, you better stay away from me.
Painted lady, with your jewels and your beads,
Painted lady, dont you do these dirty deeds,
Painted lady, you better stay here with me.
Nobodys child til I saw the light of your smile.
Painted lady, nobodys child, you have set me free.
Nobodys child, you came in and stayed for a while.
Painted lady, nobodys child, you have set me free.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Between Walls Between Walls
walls around us
always walls around us
morning till noon
till night walls always walls between
us i try to inser some words
of consolation between us
all walls rain walls between us
there is no word for us
for it
we, it, we, us, there is nothing
between us
air, between, us, air, air, air,
between us, still walls, walls,
speak, speak
why, why are these walls still walls
between us
i guess, you are dead, then
cogito, eureka,
will i be a happy man then?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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