One who stores half grown fruit eats it rotten.
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The Great Man Who Ate Cow Dung All His Life (secretly)
everyday
he feeds himself
with cow dung
but this is done
discreetly
for who in this
normal world
would like
to satisfy
himself with
dung
who in this
society would
love a man
who eats and
smells like
cow dung?
of course, he
feared
that soon if
society knows
he shall be
another ostracized
ostrich
electrically fenced
and monitored
and segregated
at Ward 8
for social
rehabilitation
he didn't like dung
reason and logic
so tell him well
but he couldn't resist
the smell of dung
even if it is kilometers
away
there is simply this
obsession for
cow dung
and he begins
to salivate even
for the word
dung
and for so many nights
he prayed
that his mind-set be
changed
so that he can prefer
steak
medium rare
than watery cow
dung
life has its own
idiosyncrasies for
he prefers dung
than barbecue
despite his
genius for good
food
and so
not to deprive
himself of what he
really loves
in his whole life
he eats cow dung
stores them in his
refrigerator
and eats cow dung
regularly
savoring every
fiber and enjoying
that rotten
sticky smell of
rotten grass
and leaves or
hay
how he wishes
that the shrink can
teach him to hate
dung
but this never
happened
he never referred
the matter
somehow
for fear of information
leaks
for modesty aside
he is
a great man
in his field of
endeavor
no one knows this
this is his secret
and i have known this
only about a year & a half
after he died
when i found his
black diary hidden
under the
old creaky bed
because it
smells dung
itself
in his
luxurious house
beside
a river
you know him
he is one of the greatest men
in our history
a philosopher
writer
philanthropist
scient ist
artist
sculptor
a genius
who ate cow dung
all his life
well adored by history
a hero for all humanity
the Renaissance man
as they dub him to be
the man who ate
and secretly loved cow
dung all this life
do not bother
let us keep his greatness
history is always right
do not argue
great men
revered the cow
ate cow dung
and become
famous
throughout the life
of history
their names
written in the pages of books
like sticky
piece of dung
but shits
unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I starve for a fruit on a tree
I am forbidden to pluck
the fruit that ripened.
I can get access to fallen
fruit, but it is rotten.
My desire exists.
My want is not sated.
One consolation-
I am not weary of you
who I am in pursuit of
and in whom my taste is alive
as you aren’t a fallen fruit.
04.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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With The Quandongs
IF you happen to visit the Western Plains
When the summer is young and green,
You can see the green of the quandong leaves
With the quandong fruit between.
The fruit is the size of a plum, perhaps,
And red as your own blood's hue;
And it falls to the ground at the touch of the wind
Like a drop of crimson dew.
The wide plains lie with half-shut eyes
At peace in a golden swoon,
And the lizards drink their full of rest
Abask in the drowsy noon.
There is only the whir of a wing, perchance,
To startle the sleeping lands;
But the quandong trees, all green and red,
Are a-twinkle with little hands.
Oh, many a tress has turned to grey,
And many a song grown mute
Since Rita and Meg and Trixie and I
Went gathering quandong fruit.
And there we were on the plains alone
In the hush of a drowsy air —
Rita and Meg with roguish eyes
And Trixie with wayward hair.
A far mirage of mingled sun and dream
Was born of the noontide sleep,
And the rifled fruit of the quandongs lay
At our feet in a ruddy heap.
I know that the quandong's burning fruit
Still reddens the drowsy air;
That Trixie is grown and sometime wed,
And Rita is grave and fair.
I know that Meg of the roguish eyes,
Though ten long years be sped,
Still plucks the fruit of the quandong trees
When the quandong fruit is red.
I know — and I know to my loss, alas! —
That I stand where the winds blow cold,
And search, with others, another tree
For its scanty fruit of gold.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Emotional Food Chain
Anger eats Balanced
Balanced eats Confusion
Confusion eats Delight
Delight eats Exasperation
Exasperation eats Forgiveness
Forgiveness eats Grief
Grief eats Humor
Humor eats Isolation
Isolation eats Joy
Joy eats Knottiness
Knottiness eats Love
Love eats Moodiness
Moodiness eats Nicety
Nicety eats Outrage
Outrage eats Peace
Peace eats Quick-temperament
Quick-temperament eats Righteousness
Righteousness eats Stupidity
Stupidity eats Trust
Trust eats Unhappiness
Unhappiness eats Vitality
Vitality eats Weariness
Weariness eats X-citement
X-citement eats Yawn
Yawn eats Zest
Zest eats Anger
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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Maybe I Am Already Somewhat Half-Forgotten (Roundel)
As the leaves, their smell, their scent half-rotten
are with the homecoming wishing me well
maybe I am already somewhat half-forgotten.
As the leaves, their smell,
does remind me, does a thousand stories tell,
of days that will always be unforgotten
of when I was under your charming spell
of the kisses that at a time were gotten
when we did meet deep in the dell
but unforgettable, life now is rotten,
as the leaves, their smell…
poem by Gert Strydom
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The rotten fruits
Such a tempting fruit as she is,
With such an adamancy as hers,
She makes my lust of her fall sick
And leaves me, who move to rotten fruits.
Ho! By such acts that she conducts,
What happiness would she derive?
By such denials does she get
Her corporal urges met with?
The rotten fruits overwhelm the eaten ones.
27.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Charlene-n-Booker 4ever
And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews,
any man a boy given this chance of making
a new sidewalk outside the apartment building where
some of them live, three old men and their wives,
the aging unmarrying children, and the child
who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here
because she doesn't know what to do with her,
she's out of control, she wants to be a gangsta, and
the old folks talk to her as if she minds them
and already has that respect for their years her mother
finally grew into. The girl who does not look
like them eats and eats and sleeps late, sneaks away
when they are busy, and tonight will write herself
all over the sidewalk while it is still wet but
the old have gone inside, and the grown gone home,
and her mother who is somewhere overseas thinks of
writing her that long long letter, but decides not to.
poem by Forrest Hamer
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Great people with reputation
Cherish lustre and greatness
as and when the tiger eats meat;
Feels happy and satisfied
as the cattle eats grass grown in wet land;
Men with lower pride feel contented
as and when they eat rice as food;
Great people with reputation will feel pride
by their noble deeds to the community.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Backdrifts
We're rotten fruit
We're damaged goods
What the hell we've got nothing more to lose
One burst and we will probably crumble
We're backdrifting
This far but no further
I'm hanging off a branch
I'm teetering on a breaker
Honey sweets so fall asleep
I'm backsliding
You fell into our arms
You fell into our arms
We tried but there was nothing we could do
Nothing we could do
All evidence has been buried
All tapes have been erased
But your footsteps give you away
So you're backtracking
Oh oh oh
You fell into our arms
You fell into our arms
We tried but there was nothing we could do
Nothing we could do
You fell into our
You fell into a
We're rotten fruit
We're damaged goods
What the hell we've got nothing more to lose
One burst and we will probably crumble
We're backdrifters
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Showers
The showers beat on this side of the world,
This blindness is like a corner of the mind.
Anything with leaves and stems is creative,
The beating is on the apples and oranges, the fruit.
A whole sequence of events unfurls slowly,
Inside the house were streams, now there are floods.
The rotten fruit will become heavier,
And the whole world convenes politely.
poem by Naveed Akram
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One generation plants the trees, the next eats the fruit.
Krishna's Meal
Kanha eats in Yasoda's lap.
some he eats, some he drops,
as the ladies of Nandgaon watch,
some he eats and some he puts
in Nanda's mouth,
this joy is beyound recount.
some he eats, some gives to gopas,
butter in his hands, curd in doniyas.
The joy of Yasoda
the three worlds cannot account.
the meal is over, Kanha washes,
for Sur the left-overs count.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Rust eats iron
Rust eats iron.
Separation from wife
eats husband
Contempt by kith and kins
And serving evil master
Eats body by burning silently
Corroding heart and soul body
from within.
Rust eats iron.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Hidden but not forgotten.
My pain from you is hidden.
But the pain you cuased me is not forgotten.
I hide the scars of what you did.
Rape and sexual abuse.
But I don't forget what you did.
It eats a way at me like the decay eats the flesh.
I hate you all you bastards are evil.
My pain is hidden but never forgotten.
I will get you all one by one.
One by one you will all pay.
You rotten peice of scum.
Your dirtier than the bottom of my shoe.
You bastards will all get whats coming to you.
One thing is for sure.
My pain is hidden but be sure its not forgotten.
And I'll pay you all back.
Your all get whats coming to you.
You'll get your just deserts.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half The World
Half the world lives,
Half the world makes,
Half the world gives
While the other half takes.
Half the world hates,
Half the world runs away,
Half the world's late,
Half the world praises the day.
Half the world is,
Half the world was,
Half the world thinks,
Half the world does.
Half the world lies,
Half the world burns,
Half the world cries
While the other half turns.
Half the world cares,
Half the world weeps,
Half the world shares,
Half the world keeps.
Half the world sings,
Half the world laughs,
Half the world brings,
Half the world tries to be the other half.
End.
Roots, Trees, and Fruits
A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
The root of a man is his family
The tree is the man that has grown-
The words that he writes in poetry
Show the rearing he has known.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
July 6,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
--
'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.
Each tree is recognized by own fruit.'
Luke 6: 43
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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My sandal wood
I groomed your feelings
For more than a decade,
And the time it is about to ripen,
You have grown past the lustre.
I have grown past the vigour.
Yet, I want you,
Not as a fruit but as a sandal wood,
Not to consume bur for perfume.
25.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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