Andy’s Influenza
For my good friend
Andrew mark Wilkinson
Her body is ripe to explore
with kisses from head to toe,
and all the sensual curves there.
I had better not write anymore
because Andy’s influenza
is fogging up my computer screen.
poem by David Harris
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Happy Belated Birthday Andy
For my friend Andrew Mark Wilkinson
To Andy, I call him a friend,
but some friend I seem to be,
when I let his birthday pass by,
without saying Happy Birthday.
Therefore, I must apologise
for my oversight my friend.
Although this is nine days late,
May I take this time to say
I hope you had a wonderful Birthday.
I have no excuses for overlooking
a friend from my Birthday poem list.
As I read Andy’s poems almost daily,
I feel guilty that I overlooked his Birthday.
Andy is our resident Romantic poet,
whose poems of love and passion
fills quite a few with joy,
and whose friendship I value.
He writes from the heart
of loves entanglement there,
sometimes mirroring at times his own life.
A great poet and a great friend to all.
Therefore, from this friend who sadly forgot
a Happy Belated Birthday my friend, nine days late.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Andy Warhol
(this is andy warhole and its take one, take one)
Its, its warhol actually
(what did I say)
Whole, its whole as in wholes
(andy warhol)
Wah, andy war hol, andy war hol (he)
Like whole hub
He
Ha
Are you ready
(yeah)
Ha ha ha ha ha ha
Like to take a cement fix
Be a standing cinema
Dress my friends up just for show
See them as they really are
Put a peephole in my brain
Two new pence to have a go
Id like to be a gallery
Put you all inside my show
Andy warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy warhol, silver screen
Cant tell them apart at all
Andy walking, andy tired
Andy take a little snooze
Tie him up when hes fast asleep
Send him on a pleasant cruise (hm hm hm)
When he wakes up on the sea
He sure to think of me and you
Hell think about paint and hell think about glue
What a jolly boring thing to do
Andy warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy warhol, silver screen
Cant tell them apart at all
Andy warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy warhol, silver screen
Cant tell them apart at all
(handclaps)
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letting Go
For my friend
Andrew Mark Wilkinson
(Who’ll know what I mean.)
There are things we dream about
That will never ever be
They eat at our hearts
With every step we take
But there comes a time
When we have to stop
Perform the hardest task to do
And say good goodbye, letting go of you
Hearts may be broken
But in time they will mend
Its better than playing
A hurting game with no end
It may sound selfish
Or even ruthless to the score
Better letting go now
Than to hurt for evermore
poem by David Harris
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One Of Us
One of Us.
There is a smudge on my computer screen I try to clean it with spit,
but no. Perhaps it is finger mark left behind by those strange people
who sit in back of the computer repair shop? Their diet is cola and
chocolate, yet they are thin, bald and so weedy looking I have must
whisper to them or they will shrink away. They sulk too if I disagree
with their findings it will take weeks before I get my computer back.
When the owner shuts shop they climb into toolboxes, the ones with
the helpful drawing of a screwdriver. Maybe the smudge is a camera
eye, they sit in there and watch me. When I have drink tonight I’ll
pour it in my bedroom, then go into the bathroom, smoke a cigarette.
Buy a can of cola and a bar of chocolate, eat and drink in front
of the screen. And they will say: “Look, he is one of us.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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An Improver
Maisie's been holding down her head all day,
Her little red head. And her pointed chin
Rests on her neck that slips so softly in
The square-cut low-necked darling dress she made
In such a way, since it's high-waisted too,
It lets you guess how fair young breasts begin
Under the gentle pleasant folds of blue.
But on the roof at lunchtime when the sun
Shone warmly and the wind was blowing free
She lifted up her head to let me see
A little rosy mark beneath the chin—
The mark of kisses. If her mother knew
She'd be ashamed, but a girl-friend like me
Made her feel proud to show her kisses to.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Denial
Rachel Weisz, Andrew Scott, Timothy Spall, Tom Wilkinson, Mark Gatiss, Harriet Walter, Jack Lowden, Alex Jennings, Caren Pistorius
by David Hare from Denial (2016)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lynne And Andy
R.E.M.---Lynne Andy
ANDY: Hey!
LYNNE: (laughing) What?
ANDY: Wanna go to Memphis and get married?
[Pause.]
LYNNE: Do I wanna go to Memphis and get married???
ANDY: Mm hmm...
LYNNE: Wha-haa? (Pauses, then changes tone.) Why Memphis?
ANDY: Because Memphis is the wrestling capital of the
world. I'll get up in the ring, and I'll announce that the
I'll marry the FIRST woman who beats me. Then you can get up,
and we'll wrestle, and I'll let you win, and ...
LYNNE: You'll let me win? (laughs.)
ANDY: ... yes, I'll let you win. I'll let you. Then we'll run
off and get married on the David Letterman show.
LYNNE: God.
ANDY: O.K.? (He kisses her.) Whaddaya say?
LYNNE: Is this for real???
[Instrumental]
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Don't Write Because I Can
I don’t write because I can
I don’t write because I’m told to
I write because when the day is done
I know it’s a friend I can turn to
It’s a friend who always laughs
And it’s a friend who will always care
And better yet I’ll always know
It’s a friend who will always be there
We’ve together faced rough times
and eventually older I grew
But when I get a pen and paper
we both feel as good as new
So I don’t write because I can
and I don’t write because I’m told to
I write because when I’m lost and alone
I know an old friend will help me though
poem by Lauren Saari
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They All Pass Away...
i have nothing to keep
what i have had always been
the courage to give
i mark the treasures
not for keeping them anymore
i put the time
when the ripe time comes
for giving them all
away
one must realize
there is nothing that we can own
wood? termites eat them
iron? the salt rusts them
stones? oh they break
and those precious ones
if you keep them
and treasure them
shall only give you that
little sensual pleasure of
seeing
the stress of robbers
will be there
for all nights and days
there is nothing worth keeping
time? it just slipped away...
me? i am just another dust
and you are another wind...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lacking facility
of course
you are playing
a game
putting the
most powerful
computer
over my head
and ask me to
look for you
may be you
just want
to find the
veracity of your
new creation
if that is the case
this computer
lacks the facility
to do the scan
see it on the screen
right on the top
soon it will be
blinking and crashing
hopefully this task
will not be repeated
dont recall me
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Mouth!
Everything that goes mouth is sensual!
the toffee run up and down,
the noise to blow up a tasty gum,
the mouth open in surprise!
Oh! ! ! !
Everything in your mouth is sensual!
the cleaning of its corners with the napkin,
the clicking of his tongue before you saying yes,
the soft against your lips when they meet one another!
Ah! ! ! !
Everything in ours mouth is sensual!
the dropp we exchanged wet through
Ours lips moving slightly,
Our kisses!
Hummm!
Everything in ours bodies is sensual!
what gonna in yours mouth!
What remains in it and
All that comes an goes!
Ui! ! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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When You Need Them The Most
For my very good friend JoAnn
There are some nights
you sit alone in front
of your computer screen,
wanting to talk to someone.
You go online with messenger
and hope a friend will sign in.
You just need to talk to someone
to chase your blues away.
You don’t tell them you are feeling blue
for invariably you end up
cheering them up a bit.
In the process, you are helping yourself,
but you won’t let them know
that because it would only worry them.
You just laugh and joke
like a jester should.
Then you say goodnight,
but they never know
just how much joy they brought
just being there
when you needed them the most.
27 March 2007
poem by David Harris
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Andy And Opie
shots ring out in the middle
of the night...
tires squeal, a body falls.
the shades are drawn, better
turn out the lights...
9-1-1, nobody calls
old woman lying
in a pool of blood,
her check is gone, check long gone...
crackin, crankin,
swept away by the flood
you're all alone, all alone...
there are bars on the windows
there are locks on the doors
young kids dying in the alleys
dont know what they're dying for
no one has the time to care
and no one is keeping score
Andy and Opie just
dont live here anymore....
Andy and Opie just
dont live here anymore.
baby girls got a baby
the daddy's lost
dreams crumble, ashes to dust...
left her in a dumpster
cant pay the cost
feel the heart beating, weeping to rust...
there are bars on the windows
there are locks on the door
young kids dying in the alleys
dont know what they're dying for
no one has the time to care
and no one is keeping score
Andy and Opie just
dont live here anymore...
Andy and Opie just
dont live here anymore...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Just live a good life
I wake up early this morning
Opening my computer
To read the emails and to
Write some thoughts in my mind
You pop out on the screen
With a big Good Day to me
You were fast on your pessimism
As I sip my coffee and read you
The world is ending
The climates changed
There is so much CO2
Humans have become
Slanderers and blasphemers
And God shall take his day
For this world’s destruction
I ask, if you have taken coffee
A pineapple juice or simply tea
I ask, if you had good sex last night
With your wife or someone else
I ask, if you are writing another poem
I ask, if you are taking a morning walk
With your dog or your son or daughter
I ask, if you have seen the sun rise
I ask, if you had a nice conversation
With a friend or an officemate
I ask, if you are living a good life
I ask, if you are being good and taking
Care of yourself, if you are praying, if
You are on the good side of the fence
You may not answer, I am taking a walk
I have just written a poem, I am answering
Emails of friends, I am seeing a beautiful
Sunrise today, its rays coming out from the trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Things Happen Normally The Way They Should Be
there is the hitch of this relationship,
i whisper my secrets and you pay me with a kiss
the kiss we like so much
our tongues rolling like lovers on the grassy hill
and we feel we have a very good reason for sticking it out together,
i trust you,
the next day i see you with another man and it is the same kiss that
you offer
again in exchange for his secrets
the next day you write in the local paper
the different kisses a man gives to a woman
how each kiss can be categorized
how each man trusts a woman because of a kiss
how a man can be fooled by her kisses
kisses that mean nothing to her
but just a means to an end
to explore and to tame
to domesticate the crazy men and educate them
about women's brains
their wits and wiles
and their quest to be equal to men and be treated with respect
and awe
well, we men have a way of our own
in all the kisses we are just working for a compromise
and most of the time
we are bored and well
crazy for nothing at all,
but sometimes, we really love deeply, but we do not say anything,
when in love
we have nothing to say, it is a serious job needing much attention,
less the words that you women, want to be said and spread
in your foreheads.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Morning Flash
it comes as a flash.
A body.
At first it is just lines and curves.
There is no minding at all
about anything else.
Then follows the scent that
compliments
its newly acquired
existence
its desirability enhanced
by the warmth
of morning hues
by the window of the house.
The scent brings in some
memories of
youth
some places of the heart
like a grassy hill
and an
abandoned hut
faraway.
After a while it is not just
the body
but the tongue
and palms.
The mind starts to creep in
like a cloud
and sunshine from
the south.
IT demands something more
It is not just these memories
and feelings
those touches of hues
and colors and
scents
and eventually taste.
And then the movement.
It coils around you
This psyche
This soul and then you go deeper
into a form
of regret.
This is not the body that you like
But the lines and curves
of some long forgotten
circumstances that want to be
repeated
too often
but can never be
Because there is only one body
one soul
and it is not there
anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Influenza
I can feel, I can tell
I can feel, I can tell, I can see
Something is changing
To me change is no stranger
I dont run, I dont hide
I dont run, I dont hide, I dont fight
What fate arranges
I dont think about danger
If it was meant for me
Id know just where to go
But if I can take it slow
Then I might be in control
In the back of my head
In the back of my head there is doubt
There is suspicion
With my new fascination
I dont know what it is
I dont know what it is, you might say
Its intuition
Its a true indication
I should trust myself
I should beware of this
But its like a strangers kiss
And somehow I cant resist
I can feel my will slip away
From a strange influenza
I can feel my mind slip away
Under your influenza
I can feel my heart slip away
Under your influenza
Theres a part of my heart
Theres a part of my heart that cries out
Please go no further
I just cant take the pressure
So I try to resist
So I try to resist and my heart
Tells me dont bother
That this pain is a pleasure
If I were someone else
I wouldnt disagree
But its always hard to see
When somethings controlling me
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What I want to write
What I want to write
I could not write.
I could not write
Tiger tiger cat cat
And the difference they behaved.
I could not write
The sky and its fall
On our forehead.
What I want to write
I could not write.
I write how I loved
How flower blosom
How fruit ripe
How stream flow.
I could not know
How I write
And I write
What I want to write
I could not write.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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By the Spring, at Sunset
Sometimes we remember kisses,
Remember the dear heart-leap when they came:
Not always, but sometimes we remember
The kindness, the dumbness, the good flame
Of laughter and farewell.
Beside the road
Afar from those who said "Good-by" I write,
Far from my city task, my lawful load.
Sun in my face, wind beside my shoulder,
Streaming clouds, banners of new-born night
Enchant me now. The splendors growing bolder
Make bold my soul for some new wise delight.
I write the day's event, and quench my drouth,
Pausing beside the spring with happy mind.
And now I feel those kisses on my mouth,
Hers most of all, one little friend most kind.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Curves
i love curves
like winding roads
that lull me
giving me such
needed rest
when i climb
mountain tops
for curves have
a way of making
things turn the
way they are not
and i marvel
about such
an intricacy
an art that winds
upon itself in
mystery, something
so profound
like what is that boa
hiding in its coils?
a pig? a goat?
a dog?
or a man?
curves heal
like a profound idea
entwining a man's mind
like a vine
delivering a yellow flower
to my lips
curves of a woman's body
like an argument that
wants to convince a stoical
and impartial jury
curves in my mind
not sharp not blunt not even piercing
but exaltingly stunning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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