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It's fun being able to suit up and go and kick butt and not have to worry about memorizing dialogue. It's a whole different way of acting because you're not depending on the words at all, you're really depending on everything else that you have.

quote by Kelly Hu
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Like everything else that is not here

like a birth in a red rose
sweet flower growing
like the rain falling down
to purify the heart
like anticipations
when the soul cries out
the bolts of words smashing
the silence broken ground
like tears leaking out
the cheeks of shame and pride
like touches untouched fevered
healing broken spines
like getting up walking
across the desert ground
like hailing the sun
when the moon's too bright
like praying words of love
sing no song to silence
across the waves of blue
like a wrath and sorrow
like a pain and smiles
spreading arms in needful
waiting for the signs
like the dresses wrapped
in wardrobes of the mind
never woven fibers
textiled patchworked clothing
like those wounds of blood
clotted in the sun
dried out eyes of sorrow
rising in a laugh
like all those things all people
scattered on the palm
and like everything else
that is not here
like love

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Not Gonna Be The One

(swirsky)
Here we are in a room full of broken hearts
Lovers once, but in the end we never really had a chance
You wanted to be free
Now that youre lonely
You want me back again
But Im not gonna be the one that you call
Not gonna take the fall for all your indecision
Not gonna put my back to the wall
Not gonna take the fall for all the pain youve given
Me and you, we were a dream that never could come true
In time youll see that our love was never really meant to be
And if you discover
You need a lover
Someone to break your fall
But Im not gonna be the one that you call
Not gonna take the fall for all your indecision
Not gonna put my back to the wall
Not gonna take the fall for all the pain youve given
You wanted to be free
Now that youre lonely
You want me at your arm
But Im not gonna be the one that you call
Not gonna take the fall for all your indecision
Not gonna put my back to the wall
Not gonna take the fall for all the pain youve given

song performed by Olivia Newton-John
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Poetry To Reckon With

My poetry is like stove in the summer

Or fan in winter

It runs against the popular tastes

And has no practical value

Basho

IT IS I TOO

It is I too, I run against authority

I Quarrel with the mayor I Sue the postmaster

I tell my teacher that she’s teaching the wrong thing I even tell my mother that I did not deserve her

(And she cried when I did not regret saying the same statement all over again) .

What is it it me that fans when things are cold that heats when everything is so warm?

To want the undesirable

To desire what cannot be imagined

Of those that do not exist

And get inside where there are no exits

To love the unlovable

To give up something so important and honorable?

To set aside love and love the lovelessness of a meaningless locomotion.

To sculpt from mud inhuman forms

To read that which must still be deciphered

To swallow that which is vomitable

To stay where others wanted to leave

I have a taste for the unpopular

I voted for the loser

To side with the weak

To speak to those with less sanity

To settle for what is unsanitary

To lick despites

To risk whatevers

To go the whenevers

To leave the dead bury themselves

To enter the narrow gate

To light the post in the midst of day

To sail when the winds are too strong

To smile when your loved ones enter the great divide

To wish happy deaths for friends gone by

Empty chairs and empty tables

To spit on these sorts of things

To be myself and yet to be so unhappy

To be so happy and yet not knowing my name

To speak none where my mind is so filled with sense

To be unknowing about what I do know

To be so funny when seriousness demands

To have worked so hard and to die so untimely

To write without any opportunity to be read

All these…. and the senselessness of these all

To be able to say thank you very much

Now that all of you are dead and gone & all I have are empty chairs and empty tables

(In the manner of Les Miserables)

In some pages of nonmindedness

In an island of don’t touch me

This I say I thank you

So Long.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Spiritual Canticle

I
THE BRIDE

Where have You hidden Yourself,
And abandoned me in my groaning, O my Beloved?
You have fled like the hart,
Having wounded me.
I ran after You, crying; but You were gone.

II
O shepherds, you who go
Through the sheepcots up the hill,
If you shall see Him
Whom I love the most,
Tell Him I languish, suffer, and die.

III
In search of my Love
I will go over mountains and strands;
I will gather no flowers,
I will fear no wild beasts;
And pass by the mighty and the frontiers.

IV
O groves and thickets
Planted by the hand of the Beloved;
O verdant meads
Enameled with flowers,
Tell me, has He passed by you?

V
ANSWER OF THE CREATURES

A thousand graces diffusing
He passed through the groves in haste,
And merely regarding them
As He passed
Clothed them with His beauty.

VI
THE BRIDE

Oh! who can heal me?
Give me at once Yourself,
Send me no more
A messenger
Who cannot tell me what I wish.

VII
All they who serve are telling me
Of Your unnumbered graces;
And all wound me more and more,
And something leaves me dying,
I know not what, of which they are darkly speaking.

VIII
But how you persevere, O life,
Not living where you live;
The arrows bring death
Which you receive
From your conceptions of the Beloved.

IX
Why, after wounding
This heart, have You not healed it?
And why, after stealing it,
Have You thus abandoned it,
And not carried away the stolen prey?

X
Quench my troubles,
For no one else can soothe them;
And let my eyes behold You,
For You are their light,
And I will keep them for You alone.

XI
Reveal Your presence,
And let the vision and Your beauty kill me,
Behold the malady
Of love is incurable
Except in Your presence and before Your face.

XII
O crystal well!
Oh that on Your silvered surface
You would mirror forth at once
Those eyes desired
Which are outlined in my heart!

XIII
Turn them away, O my Beloved!
I am on the wing:

THE BRIDEGROOM

Return, My Dove!
The wounded hart
Looms on the hill
In the air of your flight and is refreshed.

XIV
My Beloved is the mountains,
The solitary wooded valleys,
The strange islands,
The roaring torrents,
The whisper of the amorous gales;

XV
The tranquil night
At the approaches of the dawn,
The silent music,
The murmuring solitude,
The supper which revives, and enkindles love.

XVI
Catch us the foxes,
For our vineyard has flourished;
While of roses
We make a nosegay,
And let no one appear on the hill.

XVII
O killing north wind, cease!
Come, south wind, that awakens love!
Blow through my garden,
And let its odors flow,
And the Beloved shall feed among the flowers.

XVIII
O nymphs of Judea!
While amid the flowers and the rose-trees
The amber sends forth its perfume,
Tarry in the suburbs,
And touch not our thresholds.

XIX
Hide yourself, O my Beloved!
Turn Your face to the mountains,
Do not speak,
But regard the companions
Of her who is traveling amidst strange islands.

XX
THE BRIDEGROOM

Light-winged birds,
Lions, fawns, bounding does,
Mountains, valleys, strands,
Waters, winds, heat,
And the terrors that keep watch by night;

XXI
By the soft lyres
And the siren strains, I adjure you,
Let your fury cease,
And touch not the wall,
That the bride may sleep in greater security.

XXII
The bride has entered
The pleasant and desirable garden,
And there reposes to her heart's content;
Her neck reclining
On the sweet arms of the Beloved.

XXIII
Beneath the apple-tree
There were you betrothed;
There I gave you My hand,
And you were redeemed
Where your mother was corrupted.

XXIV
THE BRIDE

Our bed is of flowers
By dens of lions encompassed,
Hung with purple,
Made in peace,
And crowned with a thousand shields of gold.

XXV
In Your footsteps
The young ones run Your way;
At the touch of the fire
And by the spiced wine,
The divine balsam flows.

XXVI
In the inner cellar
Of my Beloved have I drunk; and when I went forth
Over all the plain
I knew nothing,
And lost the flock I followed before.

XXVII
There He gave me His breasts,
There He taught me the science full of sweetness.
And there I gave to Him
Myself without reserve;
There I promised to be His bride.

XXVIII
My soul is occupied,
And all my substance in His service;
Now I guard no flock,
Nor have I any other employment:
My sole occupation is love.

XXIX
If, then, on the common land
I am no longer seen or found,
You will say that I am lost;
That, being enamored,
I lost myself; and yet was found.

XXX
Of emeralds, and of flowers
In the early morning gathered,
We will make the garlands,
Flowering in Your love,
And bound together with one hair of my head.

XXXI
By that one hair
You have observed fluttering on my neck,
And on my neck regarded,
You were captivated;
And wounded by one of my eyes.

XXXII
When You regarded me,
Your eyes imprinted in me Your grace:
For this You loved me again,
And thereby my eyes merited
To adore what in You they saw

XXXIII
Despise me not,
For if I was swarthy once
You can regard me now;
Since You have regarded me,
Grace and beauty have You given me.

XXXIV
THE BRIDEGROOM

The little white dove
Has returned to the ark with the bough;
And now the turtle-dove
Its desired mate
On the green banks has found.

XXXV
In solitude she lived,
And in solitude built her nest;
And in solitude, alone
Has the Beloved guided her,
In solitude also wounded with love.

XXXVI
THE BRIDE

Let us rejoice, O my Beloved!
Let us go forth to see ourselves in Your beauty,
To the mountain and the hill,
Where the pure water flows:
Let us enter into the heart of the thicket.

XXXVII
We shall go at once
To the deep caverns of the rock
Which are all secret,
There we shall enter in
And taste of the new wine of the pomegranate.

XXXVIII
There you will show me
That which my soul desired;
And there You will give at once,
O You, my life!
That which You gave me the other day.

XXXIX
The breathing of the air,
The song of the sweet nightingale,
The grove and its beauty
In the serene night,
With the flame that consumes, and gives no pains.

XL
None saw it;
Neither did Aminadab appear
The siege was intermitted,
And the cavalry dismounted
At the sight of the waters.

poem by St John of the Cross
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Peace and not war is the father of all things.

quote by Ludwig von Mises
Added by Lucian Velea
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What Mother Nature?

The often used phrase Mother Nature that to many seems to be so dear,
When used to describe the weather's maker is very blasphemous I fear.

The term is simply degrading and not befitting to The Creator of all,
And it is just one more sign of the depravity created by man's fall.

The Creator Himself makes the clouds his chariot in the sky up above,
And He rules from His Heavenly Throne with both wrath and with love,

He's not mother tending nature, but the Sovereign Master of the sky,
Who sends rain on both the righteous and unrighteous from on high.

From His hands He sends the lightning flashing down upon the earth,
This is The Creator's gracious warning to all of a new storm's birth.

God then follows this with the sound of His Majestic Awesome thunder,
And all this is just a small glimpse of God's Mighty Awe and Wonder.

When it becomes cold God sends the snow to blanket the now bare land,
Leaving a beautiful winter scene painted by The Master's Mighty hand.

The breath of God produces ice and the broad waters become frozen.
And the ice and snow that covers the earth stops the labor of all men.

No one truly knows from where the lightning and hail is dispersed,
Or exactly how and why the ice and snow is spread upon the earth.

The test will be the tribulation for all the learned and the wise,
To explain how Mother Nature made hailstones 100 pounds in size.

poem by Bob Gotti
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Mothers Always Want Theirs Sons To Be Happy

mothers always want their sons to be happy
and so even if they marry someone
whom their fathers dislike
it is always them who settle for a compromise
and tell fathers to be flexible sometimes
not to hurt the hearts of sons

but sometimes when sons want something else
that only mothers understand
something that fathers cannot really compromise
mothers still compromise
and walk a mile farther
just to make their sons happy
and their sons leave them
to places that only mothers
by their loving hearts
know.

only mothers, yes only mothers,
and no one else.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not Being Able To Love You Again

Not being able to love
You anymore
Is the pain
That is
Driving me crazy

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Of All The Words

of all the words
love is beautiful and life is promising

what you left was only
goodbye

and you think it did not matter
there was no falling even

the world stopped revolving
the word spin
too was gone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Words That I Have Not Written

for the words i have not written
i accept i have been a coward
the moment these words become transparent
in my mind, i always tell them gently
i have not the strength to write you
you have become subjects beyond
my power and please understand
the consequences of having to write
all of you: waiting to be printed and read

like the Sphinx and its riddle before
Oedipus, if i were to write all of you
i may be able to save a kingdom in distress

but please understand what happens to me next
for like Oedipus i may be compelled to pluck my eyes out
from my face
and i may roam the earth begging for forgiveness
throughout my life
because i have been blind by fate for all those years

writing you is honesty
and it is this honesty that may at the end kill me
and so
i am very sorry

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Words Have Been Changed.

Did they claim it is not perfect?
Did they change some of the words?
How could they destroy such artwork.
Picture perfect, hanging on your wall.
You still remember it all.
It would effect me the same way is all I can surmise.
Its like a signature.
Shrunken it has become a miniature.
Where is the literature?
Buried under some delet key, most likely.
I'm so sorry with the greatest sympathy.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Wasted Words Of All The Years

THE WASTED WORDS OF ALL THE YEARS

The wasted words of all the years-
The time given to them-
A lifetime given to words
Never to be read.

Yet how I lived in those years.
And what hope I had in those words
And how I told my dreams in them
And how I tried to help those I loved.

No one needs the words
And no one wants them
But perhaps the life itself
In writing them
That too counts.

All the years of the words and the dreams and the hopes and the love of those I loved and the striving for greatness not to be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Things Sometimes Do Not Work Out The Way You Expect Them To Be

familiarity
to failure is not a easy
task, you get entangled
to a confusion
and you lose reason
sometimes

emotions pour
like lava
you have become this
erupting volcano
and time
solidifies hot magma
solid mountains
of rock
on beautiful formations
from a recent fury

like you
like what you feel
in the middle of anger
let all these make
a free flow
and simply wait and
watch

patience brings
the most beautiful
shape in you

sculpture of angry
thoughts settling
in the contours
of your peace and
quiet

then solidified
understanding
rocks and boulders
strengths and
principles and

a self newly forged
strong and bold
an edifice of
yourself now
like this new mountain
silent and daring
to nature imposing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For All The Words Dished Up - Two For Emily Dickinson

1

For all the words dished up,
A plate without meat. Maybe, bone.
No love fattened you,
never used your flesh.
Green as grass you stayed.
Dauntless, no narrow fellow passed.

2

This talk of death, dear Emily,
I know it intimately - plain talk
describes it best, as you know,
this Mystery grotesque -
concreteness like tombs hard in
the eye or that slant of light
obscured by a fly.

OK. It's done now. And ever will be,
for all the words in green
afternoons cannot evade mortality -
and soul no more than that butterfly be,
I laugh to call it Eternity that waits
beneath this plank, that other room
where a coach kindly stopped,
dropped you, yellow wing, still and
dark, now daunted and alone.

poem by Warren Falcon
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Equality Whether You Like It or Not

Take it easy! Calm down! It's gonna be alright!
No secret police in the middle of the night,
No knock on the door at four in the morning,
In good old England we'll give you fair warning.

It's a democracy here and we're proud to be free,
We just monitor your movements on CCTV,
You can trust us to practice whatever we preach,
So, say what you like, we believe in Free Speech,

Just do as you're told and sing the right song,
Remembering, of course, not to get the words wrong,
Follow your leaders and show some respect,
No-one wil hurt you if you're politically correct.

We admit there are folks with funny ideas
But their sarcastic laughter will just end in tears,
The misfits and rebels have all had their day,
What's Normal is Best, so hip, hip, hooray! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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You Chose To Climb The Hill And Not Turn Back

'Father, not My will, but Yours be done, ' You said
then climbed the hill to the cross Your blood to shed.
There You chose to bear my pain and wear my shame
even though You were innocent and not to blame.

A load much heavier than the cross You bore
piercing deeper than the crown of thorns You wore.
You were smitten of God and forsaken too
when my sin came between the Father and You.

There lash by lash the price for each sin You paid
as all my guilt and shame upon You was laid.
Then 'It is finished, ' in victory You cried
as You bowed Your head upon that cross and died.

Deep waves of love and mercy flowed from the cross
as Your blood was poured out all my sins to wash.
They're gone as far as the East is from the West
and I'm now forgiven and so very blessed.

Because You hung there on the cross in my stead.
Because Your blood was upon the altar shed.
Because of You, Lord Jesus I can go free.
Because You chose the road to Calvary.

poem by Royston
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The Words Still Unspoken

there are words that need not be spoken
like you telling me that i care for you
for how would you know what i feel for you?
it would be too self-assuming
for you to say that i really care for you
what if i do not? what if what i do is nothing but
an obligation of one human being to another?
what if it is not love at all as you would want to impress
me with it? what if it is just a projection of yourself?
you loving me and me not knowing it
me not believing it, simply because you are also afraid
to love since i may not return that love with its face value,

there are words that need not be spoken
matters of the heart, presumptions that good deeds
are shadows of hidden desires, vested interests,
blessing in disguise, wolves in sheep skins

in love my friend, you just don't make assumptions
at the end, you may regret it, for despite my emptiness
my ugliness, and my loneliness, i also know how to choose.

it is something that i have never spoken
but if i speak it all, it will only be to you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And You Say I Am Not The Giving Kind

I offend you?
Good.
But, please...
Do not attribute my giving,
As a charitable act.
I would have contributed that anyway,
To assist you with this acknowledgement...
If I had not offended you,
Who would have taken time to do it?
You didn't think about that did you?
I know!

But all you want to do is to accuse me of being abusive.
Self-centered, mean and cruel.
Have I ever been that selfish?
No!
When I am angry about anything,
Aren't you the first one I come to...
To express it?
Yes.
And you say I am not the giving kind.
Oh...
The thought of you thinking that appalls me!

I offend you?
Good.
At least you know I remain devoted.
Name any of your true friends who can say that?
Among your friends I bet there is more than one,
Who secretly wishes to be offended.
And here I am...giving you that AND in abundance.

And you say I am not the giving kind.
Oh...
The thought of you thinking that appalls me!
Yes.
I am 'A' with a 'P' palled ya'll.
And,
Admittedly sensitive.
I am 'A' as I can be with a 'P' and palled.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Living the words

i pluck out all those gigantic
words in a dictionary with the wish
to write a high brow poem

it turns out a fruit i do not even know how to call
neither sweet, nor sour, nor a pearly shape
nor anything that you can find in this world
the final poem glaring at me like a stranger
one bumps into in a foreign town

all the words beg me for the reason
to grace my poem, they say they
are not even my friend for i know them not
that they have never interacted with me
and i have never caroused with them

they dont mind, they say, standing in
for the verses as new friends do for formality
but frankly tell me we are not yet in such spirit or
company as to perform a dynamic act

i reread the poem to find indeed they are mere words
friends that got thrown together without knowing
what to expect from each other

they bow out and the whole poem just got lost
in the wilderness of my mind

i seek those friends out anyway, to share a part of their life
so that i can if needed be, belt out a proper song with them
to impress the world, to throw the audience out of their seats

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Words Ceased To Want Themselves And Longed For a World Outside

THE WORDS CEASED TO WANT THEMSELVES AND LONGED FOR A WORLD OUTSIDE

The words ceased to want themselves and longed for a world outside
The world outside dumb and beautiful wanted nothing of anyone
We the intermediaries plied our trade describing and revising whatever we perceived
But we were not the ones we thought we should be
We were not the messengers of Light and Hope to distant worlds
They had their own forms of speaking that we cannot hear
And so we programmed our great messages down through the ages
To read only the cryptic path of our own troubled minds
We are not the code of every living thing
Or the final messenger to the last star
Or the only single secret sound God wants heard over and over again
We are not the prayer- leaders of the sacred congregation of the galaxies
Deeper than all darkness and dark- matter deeper even than our own souls

We are a faint flickering
A minor music
An insubstantial voice
That is pretending to go round and round and round again and again and again
Forever
But is only a single passage a one way ticket one way word
A trip which even if it goes to the end of the universe
Will one day end.

Oh Death how you have defeated us all
Even when we in Youth knew you did not exist
How you waited and ambushed our dreaming.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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