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Everybody has their own way of tapping into their realness.

quote by Sandra Bernhard
Added by Lucian Velea
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This Moon Light

Marry me under this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of my happiness.

Your eyes are glowing like you see an angel in this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of your happiness.

Tears falling in this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of our happiness.

You smile in this moon light.
I smile in this moonlight
The only realness of tonight,
is our smiles of happiness on our wedding day.

poem by Aylissa Ramirez
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The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

[...] Read more

poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Hammers

I

Frindsbury, Kent, 1786

Bang!
Bang!
Tap!
Tap-a-tap! Rap!
All through the lead and silver Winter days,
All through the copper of Autumn hazes.
Tap to the red rising sun,
Tap to the purple setting sun.
Four years pass before the job is done.
Two thousand oak trees grown and felled,
Two thousand oaks from the hedgerows of the Weald,
Sussex had yielded two thousand oaks
With huge boles
Round which the tape rolls
Thirty mortal feet, say the village folks.
Two hundred loads of elm and Scottish fir;
Planking from Dantzig.
My! What timber goes into a ship!
Tap! Tap!
Two years they have seasoned her ribs on the ways,
Tapping, tapping.
You can hear, though there's nothing where you gaze.
Through the fog down the reaches of the river,
The tapping goes on like heart-beats in a fever.
The church-bells chime
Hours and hours,
Dropping days in showers.
Bang! Rap! Tap!
Go the hammers all the time.
They have planked up her timbers
And the nails are driven to the head;
They have decked her over,
And again, and again.
The shoring-up beams shudder at the strain.
Black and blue breeches,
Pigtails bound and shining:
Like ants crawling about,
The hull swarms with carpenters, running in and out.
Joiners, calkers,
And they are all terrible talkers.
Jem Wilson has been to sea and he tells some wonderful tales
Of whales, and spice islands,
And pirates off the Barbary coast.
He boasts magnificently, with his mouth full of nails.
Stephen Pibold has a tenor voice,
He shifts his quid of tobacco and sings:

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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First 4 Stanzas of MY VERSION of 'The Raven' by E. A. Poe

Once upon a bright spring morning, while I pondered about the heat,
Over many a splendid and soothing volume of forgotten sound,
While I nodded, nearly speechless, suddenly there came a knocking.
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my house all around.
' 'Tis some visitor, ' I whispered, 'tapping at my house all around-
Only this, 'twas all I found.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the sparkling April,
And each separate blooming flower circled the room round.
Eagerly, I wished for more- I had to try to find
A dog of some sort that could hunt- maybe something like a hound-
For the rare and radiant maiden so she could have a hound-
Nothing else that I had found.

And the vibrant, vibrating uncertain rustling of each blue curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic elation never felt before;
So that now, to still the fast beats of my heart, I stood saying
' 'Tis some visitor trying to come in at my door weighing a pound-
Some late visitor trying to come on at my door weighing a pound-
This it is, it was all I found.'

Presently my soul grew in strength; hesitating for a short time,
'Sir, ' said I, 'or Madam, truly you have great reason for being profound;
But the fact that you are here, and so gently you came knocking
And so faintly did I hear you, tapping at my house all around.
That I knew you would be here' - here I opened the door weighing a pound-
An angel there, with beautiful seraph sound.

poem by Rebecca Ryan
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The Raven

[Spoken Track]
[Poe:]
Once upon a midnight dreary
as I pondered, weak and weary
over many a quaint and curious
volume of forgotten lore
while I nodded, nearly napping
suddenly there came a tapping
as of some one gently rapping
rapping at my chamber door
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered
"tapping at my chamber door
only this and nothing more."
Muttering I got up weakly
always I've had trouble sleeping
stumbling upright my mind racing
furtive thoughts flowing once more
I, there hoping for some sunrise
happiness would be a surprise
loneliness no longer a prize
rapping at my chamber door
seeking out the clever bore
lost in dreams forever more
only this and nothing more
Hovering my pulse was racing
stale tobacco my lips tasting
scotch sitting upon my basin
remnants of the night before
came again
infernal tapping on the door
in my mind jabbing
is it in or outside rapping
calling out to me once more
the fit and fury of Lenore
nameless here forever more
And the silken sad uncertain
rustling of the purple curtain
thrilled me, filled me
with fantastic terrors never felt before
so that now, oh wind, stood breathing
hoping yet to calm my breathing
"'Tis some visitor entreating
entrance at my chamber door
some lost visitor entreating
entrance at my chamber door
this it is, and nothing more."
Deep into the darkness peering
long I stood there
wondering fearing
doubting dreaming fantasies

[...] Read more

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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S.o.s.

(They found her body right under the stairs
Where it had lain for twenty years,
The neck was broken, I heard folks say -
'Too late! ' was the verdict of Gallows Bay) .

* * * *

I'd heard dark things of Samuel Pell,
He drank too much and was far from well,
But he walked the beach in the early morn,
Especially after a gale, or storm.

He checked the flotsam as in it swirled
Into the bay from the seas of the world,
All the jetsam he'd pile up high,
And check each mark, with many a sigh.

But never a word did I hear him speak
From the crack of dawn to the end of the week,
And then he'd hurry on home once more
Where he'd bar his window and lock his door.

He lived in a three-roomed beachside shack
With a lookout room that he'd built out back,
And up to that room he would creep at nights,
With the curtains drawn, you could still see lights.

Red lights, yellow, and some were green
They'd blink and change with a squeal, a scream,
And over all was a dreadful hum
As the world swirled through his solarium.

Towering over the roof, at last
Was a big, old fashioned radio mast,
And folks would grumble in Gallows Bay
'Old Pell's up talking to Mandalay.'

The folks who knew him from times before
Would shake their heads, but would say no more,
For everyone knew that his only son
Was lost at sea when the war was on.

And Pell had been on the Ham that day,
An S.O.S. from a world away
Came tumbling over the ocean's swell
From His Majesty's Ship, the 'Camberwell.'

So Pell had alerted the Naval Base
As the tears streamed over his cheeks, his face,
His fingers flew on the dit-dit-dit

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Fast thoughts

Siren
Rumble of traffic
Rustle of wind
Singing of birds
Noise of the tv
Cracking and creaking of conservatory
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rattle of paper
Thoughts

What will this time bring?
What is the phone rings?
Why can't I rid of this hung-over feeling?
What are they doing
And what is he thinking?
Should I feel guilty for sitting and sinking?
Should I be working?
For test that are lurking
What should I wear for work when I'm flirting?
Should I be flirting?
Working my shirt
And being their shine when I know that they hurt?

The sight of my phone
The look of my nails
The book in the background
The newspaper tails

The siren inside
The rumble of words
The rustle of fear
The screaming of thoughts
The need to be free
The cracking and tapping of anxiety
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rustle of paper
Thoughts

Feeling unhealthy
Fearing the stealthy
Working right now
To one day be wealthy
Making a million
Or giving up bread
The siren of nothing
So loud in my head

Should I get up

[...] Read more

poem by Peggy Pollock
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The Abandoned House And The Man Who Drags His Shoes To Make The Necessary Sound

when you arrive in the house
(the house that both of you built 17 years ago)
no one is there
not even the three white dogs

you have accepted this face of loneliness
without a mouth

it is its nature now
gentle in silence

there is nothing to talk about with someone else
when someone else is far away and seemingly taking all the hearts out

the door and the hinges have to keep things for themselves
for in truth, those who left the stairs
they still love

you have the key to the door of the kitchen
and that is where you start the journey towards the living room

you scurry on some little memories
it is like putting some words in your notes
in here and there beyond the margins

but it is not that endless really
for whatever it be
joy or death there's got to be an end
that is the truth of the meaning of
this word

it could be a dead-end
a street of walls
& then actually you are caught
in flagrante
where your only choice
is to go back,
retrace,
remember,
refresh
refrains, refrains
of a
love song

you go back to the room look longingly at the bed
the blankets are dusty and the pillows are stained with so much emptiness
or guilt
scruples
Freudian analysis
Carl Jung's other possibilities

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Dog And Me

When life goes a stray and your poor old dog can’t sing the blues any more. You just have to start tapping with your left foot to the old southern tune. Life is like a road country road winding among the mountains. We want to get there but where never in hurry and when get there its most amazing thing you ever see. So you sit atop a mountain you and your dog a foot a tapping to the old songs of the south. You dog and your dog just look at each other with joy. There is nothing great than life, a man and his dog. So you sit upon a millions of stars gazing at life greatest wonders. I started to my play fiddle and you look at your dog. Your dog looks back and starts tapping his left foot again. A man his dog and life down past the mason Dixie line. So that old dog started howling and at the mid night train. It came rolling around the bend at a quarter to four. The sound of the whistle made my dog start doing the 2 step with old mis.jhonson. The dog and mis.jhonson danced all night to the whistle of southern train bound for Kentucky. I and mis.jhonson got married. So they live happy with their dog in the hills of the appalachaims. every time the train comes rolling around they smile and enbrance there love.

poem by Joe Hirsch
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Before Or After... Alzheimers

Dementia’s realness with no lifeline,
The burning desires spills its ashes
On reality thru the twilight years.
Memories struggle against the power
Of the black hole of nothing,
That claw at your struggle
To hold memories in a box.
A box of time zones black and white,
Now spilt out in fragments
In disarray
All around your feet,
Tapping to the memento of the rocking chair.
I of your blood, who love you so,
Cannot let you go to the shuffle rooms of an
Old peoples home.
Your glazed eyes see thru me,
Am I not real, a ghost
A shell of myself? I feel you know.
Breakfast time approaches
“Mum your tablets”
You exude repetition
“Before or after? ”
“After mum, after.

poem by Ken e Hall
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Down All The Days

Christy brown a clown around town
Now hes a man of renown from dingle to down
I type with me toes
Suck stout through me nose
And where its gonna end
God only knows
Down all the days
The tap-tap-tapping
Of the typewriter pays
The gentle rattling
Of the drays
Down all the days
I have often had to depend upon
The kindness of strangers
But Ive never been asked
And I never replied
If I supported glasgow rangers
Down all the days
The tap-tap-tapping
Of the typewriter pays
The gentle rattling
Of the drays
Down all the days

song performed by Pogues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Kajuku

Catch a falling star put it in your pocket
Take hold of the moonbeams, hang them around your neck
Prince kajukus coming feathers in his hair
Tapping on his juju stick, take you down there
Prince kajuku holds you never lets you go
Feel his power around you when your weakness shows
Take a starry circle hold it in your hand
Never let kajuku take [guide] you to his land
Long space jam
Catch a falling star put it in your pocket
Take hold of the moonbeams hang them round your neck
Kajuku, kajuku, walking down the street
Tapping on his juju stick, take you down there

song performed by Ufo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Me the instrument

Music is in my mind
Iam full of glee
My fingers tapping the table
While my palms beat as a drum
My lips pucker and being to whistle
Iam really feeling this souful strum
My feet tapping the floor
It is really fun
Allowing my body to be an instrument
As I gaze at sun
For there is music on the inside
A harmonic hum
If I gave this instrument a name
Iam not quiet sure what it would be
Therefore to keep things simple and
From becoming complicate
I shall simply term this authentic instrument as Me

poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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My Pesky Pecker

Each morning I'm awakened
by my annoying little friend.
As long as he has wood
he will be at it once again.
'Woody' has been with me now
for days beyond recall.
A Persistent little Pecker,
the little bugger gives his all.
For a month now he's been tapping
on the tree outside my den.
On weekends its annoying
cause I like to sleep till Ten.
I so wish someone would eat him,
perhaps the neighbor's cat,
and end his constant tapping
by putting paid to that.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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Musical Feet

My shuffling feet, shuffle forward,
Tapping out a rhythm of a beat.
Taking time to get it right.
Hand tapping thigh,
The pace not a race.
Body vibrates, booming Bass,
Hairs prickle the neck,
Touches roots of the soul.

© 2012

poem by Nick Strong
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Bite The Hand That Bleeds

I watch you tap for blood in my veins
My heart you feed on to keep you sustained
A parasite that leaves me cold and drained
I'm in shock, and you leave me paralyzed
And the saddest part I realize
The absence of truth behind your eyes
I feel you tapping my soul from my vein!
I feel you tapping again on my vein!
I feel my life slipping away!
One more drop of blood I spill
One more drop you take
One more drop and I will spite
And bite the hand that bleeds
I see you have two faces turning
Changing face to keep me guessing
You have mastered the art of deceiving
Now I know no one trusts you
And to think, not even you do
And I know you salted my wounds
Now I know no one trusts you!
Now I know no one trusts you!
Now I know you salted my wounds!
One more drop of blood I spill
Noe more drop you take
One more drop and I will spite
And bite the hand that bleeds
Bite the hand that bleeds you ...

song performed by Fear Factory
Added by Lucian Velea
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Denmark Street

Down the way from the tottenham court road
Just round the corner from old soho
Theres a place where the publishers go
If you dont know which way to go
Just open your ears and follow your nose
cos the street is shakin from the tapping of toes
You can hear that music play anytime on any day
Every rhythm, every way
You got to a publisher and play him your song
He says i hate your music and you hair is too long
But Ill sign you up because Id hate to be wrong
Youve got a tune its in your head you want to get it placed
So you take it up to a music man just to see what he will say
He says i hate the tune, I hate the words but Ill tell you what Ill do
Ill sign you up and take it round the street and see if it makes the grade
And you might even hear it played on the rock n roll hit parade
Daytime, night time, every week you can hear that heavy beat
Now the walls are shaking from the tapping of feet
Daytime, night time, every day you can hear that music play
Every rhythm, every way

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cool Cat

Youre taking all the sunshine away
Making out like youre the mainline - I knew that
Cos youre a cool cat
Tapping on the toe with a new hat
Just cruising - driving along like the swing king
Feeling the beat of my heart
Feeling the beat of my heart
Youre a cool cat
Coming on strong with all the chit-chat
Youre alright
Hanging out and stealing all the limelight
Messing with the beat of my heart
Messing with the beat of my heart
You used to be a mean kid
Making such a deal of life
You were wishing and hoping wand waiting to
Really hit the big time
But did it happen, happen, no
Youre speeding too fast
Slow down slow down
Youd better slow down
Slow down
You really know how to set the mood
And you really get inside the groove
Cool cat
Tapping on the toe with a new hat
Just cuising
Driving along like the swing king
Feeling the beat of my heart
Feeling the beat of my heart - yeah yeah
Feeling the beat of my heart

song performed by Queen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Less Than You Think

Your mind's a machine
It's deadly and dull
It's never been still and its will
Has never been free
Lightly tapping
A high-pitched drum
As your spine starts to shine
You shiver at your soul
A fist so clear and climbing
Punches a hole
In the sky
So you can see
For yourself
If you don't believe me
There's so much less
To this than you think
It's almost gone
The night is dissolving
In a cup God lifts
To toast the lightning
Lightly tapping
It's high-pitched and it hums
Your spine starts to shine
And you shiver at your soul
A fist so clear and climbing
Punches a hole
In the sky
So you can see
For yourself
If you don't believe me
There's so much less
To this than you think

song performed by Wilco
Added by Lucian Velea
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Our Street

In our street, the main street
Running thro' the town,
You see a lot of busy folk
Going up and down:

Bag men and basket men,
Men with loads of hay,
Buying things and selling things
And carting things away.

The butcher is a funny man,
He calls me Dandy Dick;
The baker is a cross man,
I think he's often sick;

The fruiterer's a nice man,
He gives me apples, too;
The grocer says, "Good morning, boy,
What can I do for you?"

Of all the men in our street
I like the cobbler best,
Tapping, tapping at his last
Without a minute's rest;

Talking all the time he taps,
Driving in the nails,
Smiling with his old grey eyes -
(Hush) ... telling fairy tales.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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