A poem may be an instance of morality, of social conditions, of psychological history; it may instance all its qualities, but never one of them alone, nor any two or three; never less than all.
quote by Allen Tate
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Analogous
everything has
an analogy
for instance these hands
with fingers
are they not rivers and creeks
a source and
tributaries?
for instance this body
this temple
where my soul rests
this eye
this window of the house
the sun
the eye of the earth
a friend of the stars
the wonders of our longings
for instance
the silence
a dash in our talk
a space of our doubts
many more
for instance you and me
two hands in prayer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Actually, in this instance we do have probably a better tracking system than was the instance in Canada. Because this is a dairy cow, they're all individually tagged.
quote by Ann Veneman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The parallels between 9/11 and Pearl Harbor are striking. In each instance there were warning signs before the attack, and in each instance our government failed to connect the dots.
quote by Diane Watson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Palmistry
if the palmists be true
we hold our dear precious life
in our palm
all day, all night
yet is not capable
of altering the slightest bit
in the first instance - birth
and last instance - death
well, did god create these ten fingers
for me to count disappointments? ignorance?
see, all things holdable including ourselves
would soon turn to ashes and fly -
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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You
You disappoint me
Time after time
Instance after instance
I walk behind
Rather than alongside you
The way I once did
I have been wondering why
You talk around the issues
That constantly surround us
You look beyond the answers
That escape you
When you allow them to go
Unrecognized and ignored
I don't understand why
You move through my life
As if I never wait
For your arrival
As though I don't miss you
When you leave me
Standing here without you
I wish that you would tell me why
You treat me as though
I am made of stone
Like I don't cry
When I'm alone
Like I never need
To be put first
You deprive me of water
As though I can't die of thirst
I need your love to be absolute
poem by Erika Wingo
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My cousins actions
Hurting other people what are the reasons for it?
Since seasons change, shouldn’t we in that instance,
Minimize the hurt, print on t-shirts, how we can change…
Shouldn’t we give it a chance instead of giving into pretence?
It’s not a life sentence, for us to change who we are into what we can be in an instance…
Become the inverse of who we are.
And before the universe begins a new era,
It should find us human, Everyman with a Woman…
poem by Thato Maluleka
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35
Some are not really causes
But just symptoms
And we misdiagnose
A sickness
For a symptom
Of the real sickness
The cause
And the effect
Are often interchanged
For instance
Is poverty the cause
Of crime
Or is poverty
Only the symptom
Of it?
For instance
Is ignorance
The cause of poverty
Or is it simply
An effect of poverty?
Or is poverty
Nothing but an effect
Of ignorance?
Or is poverty
Just an effect
Of an oppression
Of the rich
Taking much
From the poor
Who gets poorer
Everyday
Because there
Are no reforms
Coming
To solve
His poverty
His ignorance
His having to commit a crime
To survive
His poverty
His ignorance
His being a crime
Of
Society itself
who never cared
And wanted him
Who never
Instituted the much
Promised reforms?
And so you doubt
The cause and effect
The effect from cause
And if you did not mind so
Well
They may always be
Interchanged
And mistaken
For the symptoms
The conditions
That always
Are
there deceiving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About The Cause And The Effect
Some are not really causes
But just symptoms
And we misdiagnose
A sickness
For a symptom
Of the real sickness
The cause
And the effect
Are often interchanged
For instance
Is poverty the cause
Of crime
Or is poverty
Only the symptom
Of it?
For instance
Is ignorance
The cause of poverty
Or is it simply
An effect of poverty?
Or is poverty
Nothing but an effect
Of ignorance?
Or is poverty
Just an effect
Of an oppression
Of the rich
Taking much
From the poor
Who gets poorer
Everyday
Because there
Are no reforms
Coming
To solve
His poverty
His ignorance
His having to commit a crime
To survive
His poverty
His ignorance
His being a crime
Of
Society itself
who never cared
And wanted him
Who never
Instituted the much
Promised reforms?
And so you doubt
The cause and effect
The effect from cause
And if you did not mind so
Well
They may always be
Interchanged
And mistaken
For the symptoms
The conditions
That always
Are
there deceiving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cause and effect
Some are not really causes
But just symptoms
And we misdiagnose
A sickness
For a symptom
Of the real sickness
The cause
And the effect
Are often interchanged
For instance
Is poverty the cause
Of crime
Or is poverty
Only the symptom
Of it?
For instance
Is ignorance
The cause of poverty
Or is it simply
An effect of poverty?
Or is poverty
Nothing but an effect
Of ignorance?
Or is poverty
Just an effect
Of an oppression
Of the rich
Taking much
From the poor
Who gets poorer
Everyday
Because there
Are no reforms
Coming
To solve
His poverty
His ignorance
His having to commit a crime
To survive
His poverty
His ignorance
His being a crime
Of
Society itself
who never cared
And wanted him
Who never
Instituted the much
Promised reforms?
And so you doubt
The cause and effect
The effect from cause
And if you did not mind so
Well
They may always be
Interchanged
And mistaken
For the symptoms
The conditions
That always
Are
there deceiving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In All Situations (part Two)
just like in any other work
of art, painting for instance
there will fakes and there
will be real
there will be those that
pose for the genuine
but actually prized for
nothing,
but at what expense,
for instance let us take
a look at yours?
it will take me time
to read it
i have none. i do not have
the patience anymore
of looking at what's real or
fake, at what's quality,
art or garbage
we are here
not for anything, for what?
just plain nonsense
make time pass
and stare at the glass
letting the sands pour
between our boring
fingers.
smile, there is nothing
worth seriously taking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem
i like to read your poem
and i like to say it is a poem
there is a difference
of course
between the two statements
i like to read
it is your poem but i may
after reading
that
saying that i am honest though
and can distinguish a poem
from one that is not a poem
that your poem is one that i only
like to read
and may
say that it is not your poem
but it is yours you are sure of that
but what i am saying is that
i am reading your poem
but i feel that it is not
a poem after all
i can say one when i read one
so i just say i like reading your poem
which could not really be a poem
not even prose
i just like it
but it is not anything about what
i feel i like it to be
a poem or prose
i am reading it, it isn't
like this one for instance
you know that
now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Want To Write A Sad Poem Today
how i wish to write a sad poem today
for instance: wilting grasses and dried river beds
stinging heat of the sun
cinder like sands of the shore
heat waves, and melting ice caps
something like there is no place that is cool
to my senses,
how i wish i can write the poem about a mad woman
and a husband that always follows her laughter,
how i wish not to be affected by such a sad poem
but i am
and i do not wish to add insult to injury for writing it
and so
i quit, i will not write a sad poem about other people,
that will be too much,
i decided not to write about it anymore.
i will forget about it. I will write something much better.
i will write about
nothing at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The history of progress is written in the blood of men and women who have dared to espouse an unpopular cause, as, for instance, the black man's right to his body, or woman's right to her soul.
quote by Emma Goldman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breaking Down
It was the innocence she could recognise,
It was in that instance I could not disguise,
My hands are clenched my arms are bent,
I’m giving my all hoping this was an accident,
Do they have a phone line for hapless gents?
Why is she spitting out every plead I’ve sent?
Put yourself in my position under submission,
She doesn’t listen she thinks I’ve gone stale,
I’m pale and fail at reeling her in with compliments,
My innocence has gone at this instance,
I break and punch my white knuckles on the wall,
I stall for a moment, I’ve blown it,
She’s crying and putting on her coat.
poem by Gaz illionaire
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The principle that human nature, in its psychological aspects, is nothing more than a product of history and given social relations removes all barriers to coercion and manipulation by the powerful.
quote by Noam Chomsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0025 If you were me, I'd be you, too - one for Plato
If we were all exactly the same,
what would the effect be?
would life be simpler,
and totally boring with it?
and poetry, unnecessary?
for instance, you'd know
how much I love you
down to the very first and last eyelash of a kiss
so I wouldn't need to write
a poem about it
and you'd know that
and I'd know that
but you'd know that
although I know
you know that
there would still be
the miracle
that when I look at you
I see a finer image of myself
reflected in your eyes
would that go, or stay,
if I were you,
and you were me?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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2: 25 P.M. Roxas
there are things that do not jibe
round peg to a square hole for instance
birds that dive and fly in the belly of the sea
or fish that swim in the molten lava of the earth
us, for instance, is another thing
we have ceased to be human tired of the power of words in our lips
we should have kissed as often as we signify a love that does not change
but, we are some of these things that do not jibe at last
our dances have become awkward
people are watching and they just couldn't say it honestly that we have to stop
us, scarecrows
not scared but powerless over the vultures that feed on our flesh
over those birds that steal the grains of our youth
over time that is too cruel
us, feeding upon us,
about to puke.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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mozart's piano concerto 26 in D
what you do not know is that when i write a poem
i have mozart's piano music behind my mind
for instance take this one,
what is the plan? what is the theme of this one?
i am focused on the notes of beethoven
running wildly on the screen
of this computer
which of course, you may conclude, like an ordinary mortal,
that these notes somehow cannot be seen
running and running as they seem to be
for they are just in the imagination of my mind
like this poem
what do you think is this all about?
is this going to be about something
as you
and all of you would like to have,
a poem in utility like your car that finds significance only
for as long as it starts to run
like your tissue that you take without so much fuss
when you sneeze and you need it badly to cover your mouth?
this poem is not about it
it is simply a musical piece that plays itself
stays in the middle of your thoughts
fertilizes your imagination
and yet fruitlessly, it merely passes in your mind
and then stops
and then you say, it is not like my car, not like my tissue
just this one: nothing at all for use, but for time to let it pass itself,
to survive the stagnancy of your hours
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The thought of every group is seen as arising out of its life conditions. Thus, it becomes the task of the sociological history of thought to analyse without regard for party biases all the factors in the actually existing social situation which may influence thought. This sociologically oriented history of ideas is destined to provide modern men with a revised view of the whole historical process.
quote by Karl Mannheim
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Another Insomniac Night
last night thoughts came
rambling and we had a guessing game
of what each image mean
for instance the closed door of the dorm
at 1: 30 a.m. when all of us were drank
when the fat one climbs and breaks
open a glass door
i can still hear the shattered pieces
of glass
but no one minds as everyone were
afraid and pretended to be asleep
for instance the bald prefect was surprised
making love with someone we knew inside
his room
no one likes to tell about these anymore
those secrets that must be kept
and buried in the chambers
of our ruined subconscious subways
in the morning i look at my eyes
buried in my sockets
but i always think of some advantages
about those insomniac nights
these bed for hidden thoughts
uncovered by its curious hands
those that want to be
part of who we are now
no one
not even our morbidity
erases them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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