Severed Tail of a Home Lizard
Wriggling tail really tells
That soul and body ride together,
But whose divorce
Death always seeks.
Wriggling tail really tells
That pain is a pin,
Which pricks on
On all the severances.
Wriggling tail really tells
That visible and invisible
Are synchronized
On all beings in universe.
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Demon voice
he tells me to fight not to walk away
he tells me to scream not to talk rational
he tells me to hate not to forgive
he tells me destroy not to create
he tells me to give in
he tells me to kill
he knows i'm getting weaker
he knows it's almost his time
he knows he will be free
he knows he will have fun
he knows it will be a bloody ride to the end
he knows the end is death and so do i
poem by Paddy Jansen
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Something in me does not rest
Perhaps it is my soul
It is restless It is up to something else
Something more important than what I am doing now
It is wriggling. It is conscious of something.
To come.
It is up for something greater than everyday.
I do not know.
I really do not know. It is not speaking to me.
It is like an egg. It is the shell and transparent
Something alive is wriggling wanting to be born.
I am wanting to be reborn. I am not speaking to myself.
It is delicate. It is perhaps something holy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tiger By The Tail
What a shock it was so surprising
You looked so small and frail
I didnt know what to do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
People said that you must be joking
You let emotions run away with you
I realized a little too late
I bit off more than I could chew
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
At times life can be so enlightening
But it can turn on you
Lately it gets so complicated i
I dont know what the tiger will do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Slit in the Tail
I’M GLAD that the Bushmen can’t see me now
A-doing it tall in the town;
I’ve an inch-brimmed hat on my sun-burnt brow—
And my collar jumps up and down.
I’m wearing a vest that would charm a snake,
And a tie like a lost soul’s wail;
And I’m dressed in a coat of the latest make,
With a little slit in the tail:
With a little slit in the tail of it,
With a little slit in the tail.
My pants alone are a thing of joy,
And they’re built to show my bends,
With a crease behind and a crease before,
And a little curl in the ends.
I carry my nose-rag in my cuff,
And the lot should get me gaol—
I paid five guineas for my rig-out,
And one for the slit in the tail:
For the little slit in the tail of it,
For the little slit in the tail.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature tells me
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my riches for I am not
much richer than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my beauty for I am not
much beautiful than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my kindness for I am not
much kinder than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my generosity for I am not
much generous than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my logicality for I am not
much logical than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my judiciousness for I am not
much judicious than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my poetic mind for I am not
much poetic than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my prides for I am not
much prouder than her.
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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Fish with no tail
as i gaze out of nature... i have seen a fish without a tail
impossible but its true, first things came up to my mind
is, ask whether its worth to give time to remember all
the scene or perhaps, just a memories of a simple
goodbye
as the fish swim, deep beneath the crystal blue water, i
couldn't remember the minutes, the hours past, nay i felt
that i haven't taken my meal, it seems all are just a blink
of a second in my eyes
it keeps on bubbling, even in a thousands seconds it
stay in the water, until i notice that the fish fail to surface
beneath the running water, for the absence of the tail
the body is nothing
all is just a mirror of a fish that, every movement of the
body, the twist of the tail has to follow, its a paradox to
believe that we see the tail of other fish, nay never we
saw that we don't have tail of our own
like the fish it swim, with no direction, only an inspiration
that we can do, yet as it goes there we go, tail that swim
in the water stream with no affection of what to do
now i see, how to swim, in water, lou! where i may go...in
the world of stream when everybody is frame......
poem by Antonio Liao
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2008: Nothing To Talk About
She sat down in the booth with her drink and her number
Her lunch was cooking then they'd bring it to her
She looked so alone elderly with washed-out color of hair
Then he caught up and sat down across from her
Looked to be her son or about that age
So thin with a dirty pony tail counldn't sit still
Few words no smiles he looking left and right she down
Her tray came nothing for him he can't sit
Tells her he's going to look for a store
She tells him Lucky's is just across the street
Standing he looks out the windows
Like he doesn't know what direction to go
Then he's gone and back quickly bought nothing
Still can't sit asks if it's OK if he goes back outside
She looks so lonely no one to talk to
When he's here or when he must step outside
She know what he needs and can't find
He comes back in looking for her
She's not in the booth he can't wait
He's back outside by their car pacing around
She's out of the bathroom walking to her car's driver's side
He need a ride somewhere for something he can't talk about
I wouldn't think he'd find what he wants around here
But I may not know where to look or who to talk to
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Untie The Gordon Knot
waste sweat conquer my whole body
gently swing my jaw, stopped the
lingering body's breath, where the
vision blinded of tears
reveal the original thought, wisely
blow the lucky tie, for the owe tells
nothing than a woe; tiny enzyme fell
off my new face, pale reflected tail
like a fairy tale
take all the strength, leave something
than a nail for the Gordon knot loose,
then pain goes and freedom release
the heart replace the air behest
poem by Antonio Liao
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No Adequate Explanation
I have no adequate explanation-
I just know-because my heart tells me!
As though in a state of suspended animation,
I wait, and shall, because my heart tells me! !
They say there is a mate for each-
I say mine is you, because I feel it in my soul!
No sacrifice is too much, which leads me within your reach-
I know-because I feel it in my heart, which you stole!
I have no doubts, we are a Divine truth-
You know-because your heart tells you so;
I just believe, I need no form of proof-
You believe-because your heart tells you so!
I know it is but a matter of where, when or how-
Yet, because my mind tells me so, I wish it were now!
Maurice Harris,3 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Shake A Tail Feather
(o. hayes, v. rice, a. williams)
Producer: chris lor-aldge
Albums: whats love got to do wth it
B-side of the why must we wait until tonight? single
Well I heard about the girl
Youve been dancing with
All over the neighborhood
Tell me why didnt you ask me baby?
Or didnt you think I could?
Well I know that your partner will never step aside
Ive seen you do the jerk all night
Why didnt you ask me baby?
I would have shown you how to do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Ahhhh!
Twist it
Shake it
Shake it
Shake it baby
Here we go loop de loop
Shake it up baby
Here we go loop de la
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Well, you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Well, you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
All right
Ahhhh!
Twist it
Shake it
Shake it
Shake it baby
Here we go loop de loop
And we shake it up baby
Here we go loop de la
All right now
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
So you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
You bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Well can I see you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather?
Well bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Do it
Shake it
Shake it
Shake it baby do the twist
Come on baby oh come on
Ohhhh come on
Ahhh
Ahhh
Twist it
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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American Wriggle
Rand Paul opens
a new can of worms.
The worms wriggle
around in the can,
unaware they’re about
to become fish-bait.
“That’s it! ” he tells them,
“I approve of wriggle!
Fish approve of wriggle.
Everybody approves wriggle.
It’s The American Way! ”
Tea Partiers cheer, wriggling
like blind American worms.
(24 MAY 10, Santa Clara CA)
poem by Bill Costley
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Is She Not Silly?
you are making my life
so miserable
she tells him
why? why? why?
she asks three times
when i only want to make
you happy
to please you
to remove from you
that plaster of pain
from that bruised part
of your body?
she tells him of
her intentions
there is no answer
he is one hour from death
bleeding
yet she is still there
asking for an
answer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Request That You Simply Mind Your Own Business...
there is this tail end
of the wind that tells you
that the journey
was never smooth and easy
there are eddies of the mind
that must finally tell you that
oh well,
not every thing has been alright
that there are no clearer ponds except those that you have not really gone to
oh yes, far pastures are always greener than we think
or that, you never really understand what one had gone through
all those fast flying years
these goddamn quick years that leave us with nothing
but suppressed memories
which still carry the needles in their hands and prick us on those
empty nights
at the height of this upheaval
you still have no right to grasp
what details are there
go somewhere else
and read between the armpits of these lines
there is this Notice on the Wall which tells you
with accuracy (and even warn you about respect)
(i.e. to simply mind your own business, ok?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I had an experience... I can't prove it, I can't even explain it, but everything that I know as a human being, everything that I am tells me that it was real! I was given something wonderful, something that changed me forever... A vision of the universe that tells us, undeniably, how tiny, and insignificant and how ... rare, and precious we all are! A vision that tells us that we belong to something that is greater than ourselves, that we are not — that none of us — are alone! ... I wish I could share that. I wish, that everyone, if only for one moment, could feel that awe, and humility, and hope. But ... that continues to be my wish.
The Meadow Mouse
1
In a shoe box stuffed in an old nylon stocking
Sleeps the baby mouse I found in the meadow,
Where he trembled and shook beneath a stick
Till I caught him up by the tail and brought him in,
Cradled in my hand,
A little quaker, the whole body of him trembling,
His absurd whiskers sticking out like a cartoon-mouse,
His feet like small leaves,
Little lizard-feet,
Whitish and spread wide when he tried to struggle away,
Wriggling like a minuscule puppy.
Now he's eaten his three kinds of cheese and drunk from his
bottle-cap watering-trough--
So much he just lies in one corner,
His tail curled under him, his belly big
As his head; his bat-like ears
Twitching, tilting toward the least sound.
Do I imagine he no longer trembles
When I come close to him?
He seems no longer to tremble.
2
But this morning the shoe-box house on the back porch is empty.
Where has he gone, my meadow mouse,
My thumb of a child that nuzzled in my palm? --
To run under the hawk's wing,
Under the eye of the great owl watching from the elm-tree,
To live by courtesy of the shrike, the snake, the tom-cat.
I think of the nestling fallen into the deep grass,
The turtle gasping in the dusty rubble of the highway,
The paralytic stunned in the tub, and the water rising,--
All things innocent, hapless, forsaken.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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The Squirrel
When I see you were climbing a tree
I was really ashamed of myself
as sitting in an office the whole day
like a plump-pudding.
What a marvelous bushy tail you got; and what happened
to the man's tail?
How beautiful the man's primitive stage of evolution
or civilization; simple, crude and fundamental.
Then his name was Monkey only
no surnames at all.
Now we are facing the Apocalypse
and the burlesque human are in antics and real canibals.
The tail is very important nowadays.
At least we can proceed to a jungle
and live peacefully with the help of our tail
jumping from a tree to another tree
for our survival.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Some Lizard Thoughts On Another Night When I’m Alone
the lizard licks its tail
in a playful mood remembering
the younger days of its
short life,
IT is playing with light
wishing that there will be fire on the ceiling
too eager to please itself
upon itself
which by the way is our way of defining
what narcissism is all
about,
the lizard bit its own tail and
eat it
not worrying though because it can grow
another tail
in the manner of
auto-regeneration
which we humans do not have
really the ability to do
i watch it closely
like the cover page of the poems
of Gratian
till now, i cannot really figure out
whether
envy has seeded its discord
inside my
heart
or i am just hungry myself
and wish i had a tail
for me to eat
for supper....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For Those Who Grieve
no one
no one can really stop you
from eating the bark of the tree
the thick skin of the
fruit
no one can tell you what should have
been proper
or better
you like the skin and you throw away
the fruit that could have
satisfied your
thirst and hunger
the bark has poisoned you
the moon has warned you too well
the worm is wriggling
its frail and elongated
body
you have no ears
your sense of smell so badly damaged
and now you
are dying
no one tells you that life is as sweet
as the ripe fruit of the tree
that luscious flesh that flowing
juice
your gaze is sharp as a knife
stabbing even the
sun
and you are always right
what you have been searching
that can satisfy your hunger and thirst
is not found on the fruit
not even in the tree
it is in the poisonous bark
that useless skin
that silly coat
definitely it is not even here
where we are all grieving
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Roaming...
when the soul is blocked
there is a reason, could be that the soul has become too familiar
and as it insists, has become too unpleasant
for the body,
at 2: 30 in the morning the body is behaving like a dead man,
pretending, perhaps since there is still that
alcoholic breath, saliva sticking and
nostrils wriggling
a mosquito bite becomes too irrelevant,
a cockroach tumbles down on your hair and
laughs,
nothing is happening to life,
the soul and body at war, there is this room closed,
morning light seeking an entrance
to a night window
that is still magnetized to
dream.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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