The Food Of Termites
Doodling deep
lightening speed
junketing whims and fancies
dispersed disconnected
far fetched imagination and images
awkward and sentimental phrases
illogical epithets
unreasonable tour of thoughts
the reader refuses to go down
or rises up to the level
of a tripped or insane
caught unwanted
he finds no association
treats them as a cheating on his emotions
full of verbal diatribe
and mental dribble
he drops the book in disgust
and let it go to be the food of termites
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Related quotes
Collocation and intonation (popular poetry)
Imperialist hangover…
Father says
Who knows English
Is the best
I am fluent in English
But intonation is rubbish
So I leave the job
Of awkward commentary
I start to write
Though grammar is correct
Collocation comes in my way
I stop altogether composing
Awful documentary
Collocation and intonation
I send them both
To the burning station
When I become a poet
Coining of new epithets
Overused epithets
The wrinkle face
Cliché phrases
Wife of an old age
Coinage of new verbiage
The kiss of a teen age
Overflowing climax
Decorating the body
People say, wow! What poetry!
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Prophecy
prophecy is just the end of the book
or some couple phrases which give us a glimpse
of first impression, of beginning imagination
yet still we don't know all that can be happen in future
until we have read the book full
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Openly Fed
How deep is a forgiveness given,
When forgetting is remembered.
With dialogue set to reload?
How deep is a forgiveness given,
When emotions connect...
Simmering to explode?
Refreshed,
These actions once taken.
Were then to them expessed
With much deep felt regret!
Yet...
Here it is today years later,
An argument is baited.
Instigated by those related...
To inflate with tempers leeched,
And fetched!
Like mad dogs fed,
Raw meat to keep them mean!
Shallow scenes like these...
Invokes ignorance and demeans!
But know one admits this view is of themselves!
No one sees themselves reflected,
In these images it seems.
How deep is a forgiveness given,
When forgetting is remembered.
With dialogue set to reload?
How deep is a forgiveness given,
When emotions connect...
Simmering to explode?
No one seems to be thinking at all!
Since this is observed and shows.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself.
quote by Marcel Proust
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What He Did
as law professor teaching civil and political law
he did not tell his students that he writes poems during some
breaks of their studies.
as the students hurdle a legal problem in marriage
he preoccupies himself with some images: an old weary man
carrying an ax, debarking a tree without leaves.
it can carry him far away to some hills in his mind.
clouds and storms dock on his forehead.
he shakes his head, and goes back to the legal words
right on the page of his book. Finds himself again, strong willed.
Astute. Wise. Objective. Sharp.
A student raises his hand and recites a solution the problem.
He listens and claps his hands.
The class is dismissed and he is left alone in the room
It is 8: 45 in the evening.
Images come again. The tree is finally cut. The barks turn into paper.
He knows now the cause of the decay. Some termites.
The old man is dead. Cut by the ax. The ax is gone.
Who did it? Why?
These are his mind games.
He opens the door of the car and begins to drive himself back home.
He has a poem to write again.
It is about that old man who died beside a tree that he debarked.
It is not more of the ax or termites.
It is the tree. A tree without leaves.
A very lonely tree which is cut.
He is happy now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Hours After Midnight
I was lying awake trying to stop my mind from thought,
but I was losing the fight, my attention was caught.
Sleep was the last thing my mind had in store for me;
it intended to saturate my thoughts with creativity.
It mixed words and flowing colours in an extraordinary blend,
slowly, at speed, smooth, then textured, the mix had no end.
The flowing beauty made no sense; however, for a second it did,
but the speed of the images made everything appear short lived.
I couldn’t capture or freeze any image and retain it in my mind,
my memory couldn’t cope with the instantaneous designs.
The images became chaotic, as I tried to slow everything down.
I thought I’d succeeded, but it only slowed to turn things around.
I became hot and sweaty, and threw back the covers from my bed,
this mental turmoil was having an effect outside my head.
I had to get up to splash cold water over my eyes and face,
and then I just sat trying to stop my thoughts from taking place.
Eventually, feeling more relaxed I lay down and closed my eyes.
I was in a light blue sky, with soft white clouds passing slowly by.
Peace and calm had come to a turbulent and unpredictable mind,
my thoughts were pleasant and slower, at last, I’d found dream time.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Aeroplane Flies High
Love is a sentimental heart
Life is a sentimental way
Spy the fragile heart so cursed
As he walks across this earth
I'm disconnected by your smile
Disconnect a million miles
And what you promised me
I hope will set you free
I'm disconnected by your smile
And all I gave to you is lost
And all you took from me is lost
Black wings carry me so high
Up to meet you in the sky
I'm disconnected by your smile
Disconnect a million miles
And what you promised me
I hope will set you free
I'm disconnected by your smile
Wishing you were real to me
Wishing i could make believe
I'll take my secrets to the grave
Safely held beneath the waves
Always knew I couldn't save
Always knew I couldn't save you
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from The Aeroplane Flies High
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I remember once I read a book on mental illness and there was a nurse that had gotten sick. Do you know what she died from? From worrying about the mental patients not being able to get their food. She became a mental patient.
quote by Ornette Coleman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Insane
Somebody told me it was over
Nobody told me where it began
No one believes in you
I understand
Like a blind man
Whos lost his way
No one hears a word
Of what you say
I forgive you
Would you do the same
I would believe you
If only youd be true
I would believe if it were true
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same for me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane insane insane insane
I dont know where youve been looking
I think its only in your mind
Its tied so tight inside of you
All the thoughts unkind
I would believe you
If only youd be true
I would believe if it were true
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same for me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane insane insane
Insane
I would believe you
If only youd be true
Im getting older
And I cant escape time
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same for me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same or me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane insane insane insane
Insane
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loneliness
Have you seen
How loneliness
Gnaws at you
Like termites
In a wooden
Body…
You are
Not an
Old piece
Of furniture
That can be
Replaced -
With a body
New.
So,
Helplessly
Hopelessly
You let the
Termites…
Chew into you.
On second thoughts
Even if you had -
A body refreshed
And new, wouldn't
Those termites…
Still find you?
After all,
As long as
You live,
Loneliness
Lives with you.
It's only those
In between
Fillers of
*Joyous*
Excitement
That come
Visiting you,
But they soon
Bid you adieu.
Loneliness
Stays.
It's your
Lifelong
Enemy.
It whips you
Haunts you…
Threatens you
Bullies you.
You try
Scaring it away.
It never
Leaves you.
It thrives
Within you
Like a termites'
Colony and keeps
Eating into you…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Can You Hear Me?
Inspired by inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Saturating page in prose
As a parched palate, in need, have drink
Fluent, fluid, a liquid thought
Invisible until written free
Exposing itself in lettered form
Each line molding, what's soon to be?
Words oozing with vivid imagery
Capturing reader within its clasp
Eyes hearing, ears capturing site
A shared experience within words grasp
Inspired by Inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Drizzling, doodling, dripping
Ideas, can you hear me think?
poem by Wendy Bureau
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People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway.
quote by Mother Teresa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I ever do a book on the Amazon, I hope I am able to bring a certain lightheartedness to the subject, in a way that will tell the reader we are going to have fun with this thing.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me Loco el Cuckoo
Me loco el cuckoo.
Spinning verbal whims...
To some say come easy,
To pick and twist.
And stay sticking with wit.
For those seeking a mental comfortness.
Me loco el cuckoo,
If I choose to!
And I choose to do this to you too!
To leave you with a 'huh'?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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beyond Dimension
The level of my awareness drags open the subconscious out,
the sleepy dragon of instincts with fire and sharp claws,
I feel them foreign, an un intimate, unfriendly animated animal,
so I go surreal, the real is beyond the imagination, I see
five legs of an elephant, dancing trees, love sucks like a tick
honesty keeps changing like a freak, the snakes have legs
stones creep and crawl, fishes live on land, oceans are full of sand,
man with one leg and two tails, the glass of castle, reason, non transparent,
reality is captive child of the mind, lower cased, super consciousness enjoys
myself beyond mortal flesh where the act of greed and lust has no place,
still feel insatiate as I fail to pull down the curtain, my monkeys playing and playing within the unreasonable limit, frustration creeps in, I feel destined to be handicapped within annihilating dimensions, all these are beyond your sanity's comprehension so I go level insane very, very real and reasonable beyond dimension, where something absolute lies with an absolute unlike nothing..
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Ballade Of The Average Reader
I try to touch the public taste,
For thus I earn my daily bread.
I try to write what folks will paste
In scrap books after I am dead.
By Public Craving I am led.
(I' sooth, a most despotic leader)
Yet, though I write for Tom and Ned,
I've never seen an average reader.
The Editor is good and chaste,
But says: (Above the public's head;
This is _too_ good; 'twill go to waste.
Write something commonplacer-
Ed.)
Write for the average reader, fed
By pre-digested near-food's feeder,
But though my high ideals have fled,
I've never _seen_ an average reader.
How many lines have been erased!
How many fancies have been shed!
How many failures might be traced
To this-this average-reader dread!
I've seen an average single bed;
I've seen an average garden-weeder;
I've seen an average cotton thread-
I've _never_ seen an average _reader_.
L'ENVOI
Most read of readers, if you've read
The works of any old succeeder,
You know that he, too, must have said:
'I've never seen an Average Reader.'
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Painting dreams...
Gazing at an empty page,
Thoughts and emotions run wild.
A portrait of words come to life,
Like dreams of emotions dancing.
Images of us live on in written words,
Stirring my mind and emotions.
A world of dreams built within the mind,
Forever floating upon the emotions of fantasy...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Appreciating Free Style Poetry, From The Loose Poet
for EVO e.i.c and his staff
poetic seeds germinate
above the 5 poetical quilts:
mood, imagery, thought
melody, rhythm
regardless of twigs sprouting -
matured poet reaps twists and surprises
immatured one duplicates
poetry is not a sole reflection of man's
damn imagination thru rhyme and metrical phrases
poetry is not a tone of
monotonous lines of ala-classical tounges of greatness
and hackneyed syllables, homonymous end-words
poetry is but a variation of
mute voices from artistic loose mind
puzzling emotions spill out in any wad of papers
in unlyrical odes, or sober sonnets
in rhyme or wild verses
then what makes my poetry
when read
to make my critics weep
they feed to every reader's mind
as they know -
my poetry has magic
most of us keep so well hidden
sometimes narrow
sometimes deep
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Sentimental
Last night
we showed how much we cared
but sadness filled the air
how it made us cry
as we waved goodbye
then you left me standing there
Last night
I came home on my own
and watched a movie show
and the saddest part
really broke my heart
as it made me miss you so
I get so sentimental
can't control the beat of my heart
I get so sentimental
sentimental when we're apart
Last night
I tried to let you know
how it hurts to see you go
and how I want you near
every time I hear
our love song on the radio
I get so sentimental
can't control the beat of my heart
I get so sentimental
sentimental when we're apart
Can't control the beat of my heart
I get so sentimental
sentimental when we're apart
How you made me cry
when we waved good bye
as it made me miss you so
I get so sentimental
can't control the beat of my heart
I get so sentimental
sentimental when we're apart
I get so sentimental
I get so sentimental
sentimental when we're apart
I get so sentimental
can't control the beat of my heart
I get so sentimental
song performed by by Donna Summer from Another Place And Time
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cobwebs in My Mind
You can lead a horse to water,
but you cannot make it drink.
I lead my pen to paper,
but it refuses to write.
My pen is not empty,
but I feel my imagination is
and I wonder if
I have run out of steam.
The world is filled with wondrous things
that my minded refuses to think about.
Once upon a time
my imagination gushed from my pen,
now it’s only a trickle
and only now and then.
I sit here at my desk
and look out the window
at the wind blowing the trees.
Maybe if I stood outside
it might blow away
the cobwebs in my mind.
(10 August 2011)
poem by David Harris
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