Unfold
words & music by jason mraz
Hands in line
Arms close to my side
I'm fighting tides of an ocean's undertow
And I figure I might not make it
And I'm taking empty
But seldom keeping
And the words retreat breathing histories into stories untold
And I unfold.
My hands are high
And I'm holding out, holding up
Because I figure that I just might make it
And I'm waking empty but seldom sleeping
And the words repeat breathing histories into stories untold
And I unfold.
Quality is what you see now in the corner of your eye.
Don't be surprised if you hear the bells ring
They form from the sky and they sound bong, bong, bong
And I'm holding up because I figure that I just make it.
And I'm waking empty but seldom sleeping
And the words repeat breathing histories into stories untold
And I unfold.
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Stories
Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wacky Weed
Your fiction has a sickness,
And it is in deluxe.
Trimmed with a mouth piece minted,
Sweetened to touch.
Bong bong wicky sticky bong bong.
You fed on the weed.
You fed on that wacky weed.
You fed on the weed.
You fed on that wacky weed.
In a bong bong bong.
There is no truth you mention,
While you do that stuff.
Your motives are quite hidden,
And you munch too much.
You fed on the weed.
Wicky sticky bong bong
You fed on that wacky weed.
In a bong bong.
You fed on the weed.
Wicky sticky bong bong
You fed on that wacky weed.
In a bong bong bong.
Your fiction has a sickness,
And it is in deluxe.
Trimmed with a mouth piece minted,
Sweetened to touch.
Bong bong wicky sticky bong bong.
You fed on the weed.
Wicky sticky bong bong
You fed on that wacky weed.
In a bong bong.
You fed on the weed.
Wicky sticky bong bong
You fed on that wacky weed.
In a bong bong bong.
Wicky sticky bong bong.
Wick wicky sticky bong.
Wicky sticky bong bong.
Wick wicky sticky bong.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writting From The Heart
Writing from the heart
It is all have ever known
For when you're cold and alone
Who do you really got?
But of course yourself
Full of thoughts.
If you were even given a chance
What would you do?
Well I choose to write from the heart
Tell you of stories not of fantasy but of today
But a reality in horrid way
It is to celebrate
Who I am
Where I came from
An explain stories untold
that will never otherwise unfold.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fight Or Flight
We're ready to go
Ticking like a bomb that's about to blow
It's taking control
Pulling at your feet like an undertow
You don't really know
If you're all that capable
But you've been told
Figure it out
Don't pretend you're stupid
Sort it out
Go make yourself useful
You're better than dead
You really made a mess with the words you said
So easily fed
The flames of the fire rise above your head
They want to be led
You've joined the ranks instead
There's a voice in your head
I can't figure it out
Any more than the generation before me
I can't figure it out
How we got where we are today
I can't figure it out
Any more than the generation before me
I can't figure it out
We've got to fight not to fade away
song performed by by Face To Face
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suffering Is Always Personal and Better Left Unshared and Unspoken
my words are waking me up
my hand is ready, the computer beeps
i like to write an email for you
how many times shall this happen?
this urge to let you know
this morning, i again blame myself
because i can't
i am thinking of the consequences
i know how painful is it to fall
how empty can the house become
how a night without a stars can make us cry
sometimes
how the sound of the river when you walk alone
gives you the sound of the cry of the pebbles
they break their silence
they scream
for truths still untold
to rules that cannot be broken
when you enter that empty room again
a ball of silence meets you
you sit beside it
it speaks to you
this is the first time that you have seen
its nature
it is dressed with lips
and when they begin to open to about to speak to you
you close your hands
turning them into fists
and you hit your chest
and the ball of silence moves away from you
it is respect for pain
when silence pretends again that it is just a ball
and that it can go away
for men suffer all alone
on unsaid proportion
with that ability to embrace no
description
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Looking At You I Shall Tell Some Stories
looking at you
i make stories about your face
lovely stories (though there were betrayals
of the skin, i decide not to include it there)
for a person like you shies away from pain
from that which burns
all these you try to evade and so you keep running away
from everything that signifies
heat and fire)
but so much so for that
my stories travel to your hands
(i have this theme about tenderness
caress, affection, love and love
and holding one on top of the other
fingers intertwining) i
do not want to stop in there
my stories shall travel to your feet
and i shall remember
(those stamping of the feet
on the ground
not the dance in bed
but the leaving of footsteps
the closing of the door
and the final sound of the
thuds)
the ending will be sad
there was someone who left without saying goodbye
while the other
was still in bed soundly sleeping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Desperate Heart
One night, one empty room, one man gettin over you
One star, one lonely moon, I make a wish, I know will never come true
You call my name, and you beg me to hold you again
But the truth remains, Im only a fool who cant help but pretend
Chorus:
Its all over but Im holding on, I cant let go until the love is gone
Its all over but I keep holding on with a desperate heart
With my desperate heart
Some nights, I try in my mind, I see myself learning someone new
Still I know, Im wasting my time, no one can take the place of you
So I close my eyes, I swear I feel you here by my side
But its all only a lie, I need to believe for my heart to survive
Its all over but Im holding on, I cant let go until the love is gone
Its all over but I keep holding on with a desperate heart
With my desperate heart, I keep holding on
(guitar solo)
All this time Ive been drowning in hopeless illusions Im keeping inside
That someday youll walk out of the shadows and back into my life
Its all over but Im holding on, I cant believe your love for me is gone
Its all over but I keep holding on (with a desperate heart)
Yeah with my desperate heart, I cant let go until the love is gone
(all over but Im holding on) I keep holding on
(all over but Im holding on) I cant believe your love for me is gone
(all over but I keep holding on)
(all over but Im holding on)
(all over but I keep holding on)...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I must have been 3 years old or less, and I remember paging through these comics, trying to figure out the stories. I couldn't read the words, so I made up my own stories.
quote by Daniel Clowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tonight
Verse one (kandi):
Come a little bit closer and look into my eyes,
If only for a moment, boy dont be surprised.
I want you right here next to me,
So tell me we can spend some time.
So I can hold you softly,
In these gentle arms of mine.
And the moonlights gazing,ooh,
Shining on my window pane,
Beaming down on the midnight hour,
I hear the sound of rain.
Chorus:
Tonight, tonight, ooh...
Tonight, tonight, ooh...
Verse two (tamika):
So why dont you stay awhile,
I cant help it if you put me in a daze boy.
But you look so good to me,
In your satin pjs.
So lets make love by candlelight,
And listen to the quiet storm.
As I kiss you in the places,
That make your body warm.
Repeat chorus
Break:
Im holding you
(repeat x6)
Holding you tight all through the night
(repeat x2)
Looks like its gonna rain
(repeat x4)
Holding you tight all through the night
(repeat x2)
Tonight.
song performed by by Xscape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only You
Waiting for you again, seems like this never ends
I close my eyes and I see your face, and I see it all fading away
Woke up before you again, youre still asleep I cant pretend
I feel like Im losing you, and I am trying to make everything right
Chorus:
Only you, only me, say the words I want to hear for all eternity
Only you, holding my heart in your hands
Only me, still trying to understand, whoa no oh oh
If I could have a second chance, maybe change the circumstance
Imagine if the dream came true, we could start it all over tonight
Chorus repeats 2x
Only me, say the words I want to hear for all eternity
Only you, holding my heart in your hands
Only me, still trying to understand, whoa no oh oh
song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sin's Round
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am,
That my offences course it in a ring.
My thoughts are working like a busy flame,
Until their cockatrice they hatch and bring:
And when they once have perfected their draughts,
My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts.
My words take fire fro m my inflamed thoughts,
Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill.
They vent their wares, and pass them with their faults,
And by their breathing ventilate the ill.
But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions:
My hands do join to finish the inventions.
My hands do join to finish the inventions:
And so my sins ascend three stories high,
As Babel grew, before there were dissentions.
Let ill deeds loiter not: for they supply
New thoughts of sinning:
wherefore, to my shame,
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am.
poem by George Herbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soul Tells All
My voice, the ink for this write
If just u ever wonder how SOUL sounds like
Not written this as another fairytale story
For real this is about you and me
In short met we made series
Each series we make beautiful stories
Friendship proven generates strong histories
At least it sails trusty and kills worries
Please stand yourself dont change anew for me
You are wrong if u think try to be perfect make me see
I maybe perfectionist but
Originally you simply the best thee
Cause perfect friend is mirrored by you, i can see
Could u believe me if i say
If you ever need me now
I'll spend time for you
Listen to your words say
Clear your messy day
Say i'm fool and jokes all the way
On the slippery life road
Let us holding each other
We could never fall, but...
If we fall let us fall together
No hurt but cheered by our laughter
Soul tells u
Be together to create a magic
Impossible for a bird to fly with one wing
For our dream to fly we can be a pair of wing
Strong enough for us to cross the wind
Above the high sky we flag for winning
Together we stand so easy
But my friendship isn't free,
It cost you price of happy
So can u pay this to me?
We were made each other as a friend
Forever u need me take my hand
Magical friendship for bruises to mend
Dear friend, did my soul told you
As long as u breathing
Anytime and anywhere you are
Don't you believe that you will lost me
Be with you, I don't need more but......
Please don't forget to pay me happy you
And now there's nothing i secret
Cause my soul tells it all....to you
poem by Unwritten Soul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
In silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to its bondage—
The kingdom of sleep.
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
Oh, wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
’Tis then that the stories
Of bush-land are told.
Unnumbered I hold them
In memories bright,
But who could unfold them,
Or read them aright?
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories
The breeze in the myalls
Are part of these stories.
The waving of grasses,
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever,
The hobble-chains’ rattle,
The calling of birds,
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words.
Without these, indeed, you
Would find it ere long,
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune,
The voice of the singer,
The lilt of the tune.
But, as one half-hearing
An old-time refrain,
With memory clearing,
Recalls it again,
These tales, roughly wrought of
The bush and its ways,
May call back a thought of
The wandering days,
And, blending with each
In the memories that throng,
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
in silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to its bondage--
The kingdom of sleep
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
O wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
'Tis then that the stories
Of bush-land are told.
Unnumbered I told them
In memories bright,
But who could unfold them,
Or read them aright?
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories,
The breeze in the myalls,
Are part of these stories.
The waving of grasses,
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever,
The hobble-chains' rattle,
The calling of birds,
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words.
Without these, indeed you
Would find it ere long,
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune,
The voice of a singer,
The lilt of the tune.
But as one halk-bearing
An old-time refrain,
With memory clearing,
Recalls it again,
These tales roughly wrought of
The Bush and its ways,
May call back a thought of
The wandering days;
And, blending with each
In the memories that throng
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sleeping To Dream (Live @ Java Joes - 06.27.02)
words by jason mraz
music by jason mraz & peter stuart
I'm dreaming of sleeping next to you I'm feeling like a lost little boy in a brand new town
I'm counting my sheep and each one that passes is another dream to ashes
and they all fall down.
As I lay me down tonight,
I close my eyes and what a beautiful sight
I'm sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
I found myself in the riches (Your eyes, your lips, your hair.) Well you were everywhere
But I woke up in the ditches. I hit the light and I thought you might be here
but you were nowhere. You were nowhere at home.
As I lay me back to sleep
Lord I pray that I can keep
Sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
(It's just a little a lullaby to keep myself from crying myself to sleep at night.)
Sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Hands Joining
Great grandma’s hands
Grandma’s, mama’s,
sister's hands
Aunt’s and niece’s
Hands, they join today
An epic telling the stories
About touch, about prayer,
About reaching, about the years
Of caressing and holding on
To love, persevering and
Resting the hands on the
Hands of the other hands
Those moments of silence
When the hands speak more
When the mouths accept
The loss of the power of words
When even the hearts give in
Because the hands are warmer
And so comforting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Morgan’s Curse
Followin’ the trail on the old treasure map,
I came to the spot that said “Dig right here.”
And four feet down my spade struck wood
Just where the map said a chest would appear.
But carved in the side were written these words:
“A curse upon he who disturbs this gold.”
Signed, Morgan the Pirate, Scourge of the Seas.
I read these words and my blood ran cold.
So here I sit upon untold wealth
Tryin’ to figure which is worse:
How much do I need this gold?
And how much do I need this curse?
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From The Biography Of An Unknown Woman: Xxv
many many stories are untold
even if one wants to,
it's difficult to tell them
for there's nothing that
can be put in words
hurt n experience are
far beyond expression
she thought to herself
as clouds began to gather
once again outside
21may2010
15.00hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary and the Old Priest.
The old priest sat
in the dark of the
confessional. A girl
had entered on the
other side and knelt.
A rustle of clothing,
breathing, a cough.
He was prepared for
the list of sins, the
the soft voice verbal
sprouting, the usual
schoolgirl misdemeanours.
Yes my child? He said.
Mary on the other
side stared at the grille,
tried to make out which
was the priest. Bless me
Father she began, then
the list ran. The priest
placed his hands over
his ears. The list was long,
indelicate, touching on
the obscene. He fumbled
with his beads, tried to
make out the voice,
the owner, which girl?
He thought, peering into
the grille, his eyes searching
through the semi dark.
Mary pushed her knees
together; she sensed the
need to pee. She knelt holding
herself in, pushed her hands
between thighs. How long
was the old codger going to be?
She mused. The priest coughed.
Sniffed, tried to discover the
scent. He said the usual words,
about trying to avoid the occasion
of sin, have faith, and so forth
uttered in a strained voice.
He peered hard. The outlined
figure fidgeted, moved from side
to side. Never in his born days
had he. He uttered the absolution,
made a sign of the cross. Then
she was gone. The light there
then not there. A smell of sin?
What was it? No, not urine?
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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