Congregation of facts
Congregation of facts
does not show
anything definite.
Though I recognised this poem
the picture I was absent
in the concert.
Releasing of serials are
on and I am undone.
Whatmore I can do in this arena
excepting chatting.
I am between scylla and
charibdis and I know
to go beyond this.
Wait and see
how I am taking you
from this place of haughty
with this nothingness of being.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Chatting With A Friend
when you relax and forget about work for a while
chatting with a friend
about sweet nothings
about anything goes
some jokes and we all laugh
nothing about kiss and tell
nothing about the picture on the hill
just plain chatting
and in between she gets her cup of tea
while
i do some urinating
wait a minute, i have this poem
title it
friendship, now don't write about it,
just cherish it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is Something Really Wrong About That
There's something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
There is something really wrong about that!
They're not based in truth of action.
Something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
Absent is the truth of action.
Nothing is said about that.
There is something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
There's something really wrong about that!
They're not based in truth of action.
Something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
Absent is the truth of action.
Nothing is said about that.
Truth has been manipulated.
Something is wrong about that!
And people now themselves they hate.
Something is wrong about that!
Racism is the indicator.
Something is wrong about that!
And how one lives is too debated.
Something is wrong about that!
There is something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
There's something really wrong about that!
They're not based in truth of action.
Something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
Absent is the truth of action.
Nothing is said about that.
We've all been underestimated.
Something is wrong about that!
The thoughts of people are degraded.
Something is wrong about that!
Deceivers seem too much elated.
Something is wrong about that!
And truth for us has been created...
With an ease that's made..
Oh there's something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
There is something really wrong about that!
They're not based in truth of action.
Something really wrong about that!
Those facts you ration.
Absent is the truth of action.
Nothing is said about that.
Something's really wrong about it.
Where are the facts?
Something's really wrong about this.
Who erased the facts?
Something's really wrong about it.
Where are the facts?
Something's really wrong about this.
Who erased the facts?
Oh there's something really wrong about that!
Who is hiding facts?
Oh there's something really wrong about that!
Keeping truth from action.
Oh there's something really wrong about that!
Who is hiding facts?
Oh there's something really wrong about that!
Keeping truth from action.
Oh there's something really wrong about that!
Who is hiding facts?
And why are facts held back?
The truth has been eliminated.
Something is wrong about that.
The truth has been eliminated.
Something is wrong about that.
The truth has been eliminated.
Something is wrong about that.
The truth has been eliminated.
Something is wrong about that.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Come to poet
Come to poet
And listen poem
In poem find life
Life detach.
Detachment only truth
Truth is nothingness
Nothingness is nothingness
Only nothingness is true.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Cackleseed
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
They plant their gossip with a stinging of their tongues.
Cackleseeding like maidens chatting chit to chit chat.
With a tit for tat while knitting something gritty to unwrap.
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
The ones who gossip for the sport and fun of it.
And in strict 'confidence...
Juicy tea is pour on those who get no pity that's omitted.
Cackleseeders do their chatting,
With dirt to unpack.
Cackleseeders do their chatting,
With no benefit of facts.
No matter where they cackle at.
Cackleseeders do their chatting,
With dirt to unpack.
With no benefit of facts,
And no matter where they cackle at.
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
Cackleseeders do their chatting,
With dirt to unpack.
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
With no benefit of facts,
And no matter where they cackle at.
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
Cackleseeding like maidens chatting chit to chit chat.
With a tit for tat while knitting something gritty to unwrap.
Cackleseeders do their chatting,
With dirt to unpack.
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
Cackleseeding like maidens chatting chit to chit chat.
With a tit for tat while knitting something gritty to unwrap.
They do a cackleseed before a run done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Last Night You Sent A Picture
last night
you sent a picture
a face surrounded with flowers.
i sent mine
a face waiting for your body
in bed.
you sent another picture this time
it is your son saying
leave her alone and
so i sent a picture of my wife
kissing my lips and too saying
leave him alone
he is mine.
this morning you say
i'm sorry and i am wondering
if i have to send another picture
thru the MMS
saying: are you the mistress of the ruins?
sorry? what are you sorry for?
we have nothing. I am only giving you
what you ask. Just giving.
Not taking.
yes, not taking you
seriously. And you like it?
love this poem. Play me.
You still like toys. Toy me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Out Of a Nothingness
Encouraged by a discouragement...
Seems to be the steps flights begin to take.
Like the discovery of a nothingness,
A non-entity ignored...
Sitting unexplored!
Until,
The realization that 'something' within it exists.
And a beginning one makes of it...
To create the break that forms its shape,
Taking place.
When one is told they are nothing...
Something 'clicks' within the mind.
And with that acknowledgement of a nothingness...
One embraces this to mold, shape and define!
Revealing a something out of a nothingness,
Where all of what 'is'...
Gets an assigned documented time of its find!
Showing a wealth of what is yet to be uncovered...
When possibilities like the life one knows,
Is given breath to breathe and eyes to probe...
A potential from a nothingness claimed,
To be named, linked and chained...
To all which had been suspended in space,
Before it too was exposed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Undone
I smoke a fag,
with a coffee mug,
The morning is mad.
It as corked head,
The room is a mess,
and broken chair.
The table undone
With crumble buns
and slices of ham.
The book shell
is a mess as well
of a picture holder
of dusty folder.
The walls are warm
the heater is on.
The fish are sunk
in the square tank.
Raining day
the cat stays
on the bad undone
leaking his paws.
The pillow wrinkle
and the sheets crinkle
the pyjama lay
on the bad end side.
My laces are undone.
This is a the last one
So I tie my shoes,
while I wait for you,
poem by Luca Menin
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Go Tell The Congregation
Here I am
There I was
Here I go
Just follow me
If it was
Then it can
And we know
How it will be
When it was
Just because
Yes you know
Its not a dream
Its just all
Cmon yall
Ill tell you
What I mean
When you want to lose your blues
Go tell the congregation
When theres nothing left that you can do
Go tell the congregation
When you want to tell the truth
Go tell the congregation
When the devils got a hold of you
Go tell the congregation
Dont look back
Stay on track
Its a fact
A lesson to me
Keep in stride
With your pride
Now you know
How strong you can be
Theres no time
Draw a line
Yes I know
That you can know me
Look alive
No surprise
Everybody wants to be free
Everything is everything
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Climbing From Ruts
Not 'who' is he?
But 'what' is he?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.
Not 'who' is she?
But 'what' is she?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.
They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.
They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.
Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.
Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.
They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.
Not 'who' is he?
But 'what' is he?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.
Not 'who' is she?
But 'what' is she?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.
Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.
They climb from ruts,
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.
They climb from ruts,
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.
Climb up from ruts,
Undone.
Looking up,
Undone.
And taking risks,
Others may sit...
In arrested limitedness.
And they pursue,
Undone.
And renew.
Undone.
Not like the few,
Undone.
Who run from the Sun!
And they pursue,
Undone.
And renew.
Undone.
Not like the few,
Undone.
Who run from the Sun!
To leaking roofs.
Undone.
And run from the Sun,
To leaking roofs.
Undone.
And run from the Sun,
To leaking roofs.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What the use?
What the use of dreaming if I ain't dreaming about you
What the use of chatting if I'm not chatting with you
What the use of taking a picture if you not on the other half
What the use of seeing if I'm not seeing you
What the use of talking if I'm not talking with you
What the use of loving if I'm not in love with you
What the use of living if you not by my side
What the use of thinking if I ain't thinking about you
What the use of smiling if I'm not smiling with you
What the use of hearing if I'm not listening to you
What the use of praying if I'm not praying for you
What the use of listening to music if it doesn't make me think of you
What the use of living I just don't understand if you not by side, if you not at arms reach I really don't see a point of my existence if my one and only love is not by side I need you here with me right by my side is where you belong
poem by Zinhlejobe Sithole
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A Day Is Ending and Nothing Has Been Done
A day is ending
And nothing has been done
It is possible to try and rush
But perhaps it is better to give a day to nothingness
So many days have already been given to nothingness
And perhaps all the days will one day be given to it-
A day is ending
No work has been done
There was time
So much time
And all of it was wasted-
One day into nothing
Perhaps the next day
Fueled by guilt
Will be work for more than one day
Perhaps -
The day is ending
And a poem has been written about the nothingness of this day
A day in which one small poem has been written
And one thing has been done.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Definite Maybe
Got a letter through the post that says I dont exist.
Apparently the new computer thinks I wont be missed.
We need more facts, perhaps you would find out and forward them.
Theres no proof or trace or date or place or where or when.
Central informations got no news today (today).
Is there a change in my position?
No decision, no decision.
All I ever get is a definite maybe.
Head office thinks Im dead,
But Im not even ill.
How do I get attention,
Tell me who I have to kill.
Is there a change in my condition?
Not today.
The answer comes with repetition,
No decision, no decision.
round and round the circle goes,
Stood in line but the counter was closed.
And when I ask who is responsible,
Nobody knows, try one of those.
All I want is a yes or a no,
(all he wants is a yes or a no).
But all I ever get is a definite maybe.
Tried to make my life a misery,
But they dont want to know,
They dont want to know,
They dont want to know.
And all I ever get is a definite maybe.
No decision, no decision.
Surely there must be a way to open all the doors,
And wade through all the petty bureaucratic little laws.
Frustration everywhere I turn, I just get more and more.
Everyones got problems and theyve heard all mine before.
Oh, Im tired of making endless calls.
(somebody help this poor man.)
Banging my head against the wall.
I walk along an endless corridor,
Then I knock on the door, then I realize
That Ive been there before.
No one here can hear my case.
So all I ever get is a definite maybe.
When they say, no news today, get back in the queue,
What can I do? what can I do? what can I do?
No decision, no decision.
No decision.
All I ever get (no decision) is a definite maybe (no decision).
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I can't tell you where a poem comes from, what it is, or what it is for: nor can any other man. The reason I can't tell you is that the purpose of a poem is to go past telling, to be recognised by burning.
quote by A.R. Ammons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Afternoon Poem
When i write this one,
this general idea about something
with nothing definite in particular
falling short of the images required
of a poem,
i really have no audience in mind
i am just writing like talking a walk or
sitting on a bench watching some of you
passing by,
definitely, this is an afternoon poem
and that is what is definite about it
i am tired
but i cannot rest
when i arrive in the house
only the dogs meet me
there is no one here
no note
left on the fridge
there is only this silence that keeps
me company
and the image of the wagging tail of
a dog
the only loyalty that seems
to abide by the rules
of this
game, well,
i should not be surprised
it has been this way
and i like it that way now
this nonirritating
spectator
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Desperation Is A Lonely Poem
DESPERATION IS A LONELY POEM
Desperation is a lonely poem
And what I have to say
And have said so many times before
Will not save me
From this situation.
Desperation is a lonely poem
And a helpless poem
And a difficult poem
And a painful poem
And a poem I do not know how to get out of.
Desperation is the silence of all these words
And the nothingness of endless not hearing
When I cry with all my soul aloud.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Undone To Undo
Undone to undo...
Those passionate insights.
Individuality disconnected,
To a symbolic way of life.
Undone to undo...
Questions and curiousity.
Freedom to disconnect...
From a torn and decadent society.
Undone to undo...
Truth and honesty.
A rise in higher consciousness,
That allows eyes wide open that see.
Undone to undo...
Facts and nonfiction.
To restrict convictions.
Undone to undo...
Influence that speaks,
To those poor and meek...
Reaching to strengthen,
Identities that seek...
A reality that teaches,
Shackles are for the sheep...
Heading for mutilation.
And a mindless humanity!
Undone to undo...
You and I.
And all good deeds pursued,
We attempt to do.
Undone to undo...
But intervention,
Prevents it.
Intervention prevents it.
Intervention prevents it.
An intervention,
Prevents it.
And dimensions,
Diminish.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wait For The Poem
WAIT FOR THE POEM
Wait for the poem-
Wait-
Let the Breeze go through you
The heat of these past days has been long.
Wait
Let your mind
Begin to move
With the wind.
Lines
More lines
A poem?
Writing now
The breeze.
Thank God
For the Breeze
For the Poem
For Now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Way It Should Be
J. spinks
Picture an ocean - that no one else can see
A sea of emotion - just made for you and me
Id promise you anything if youd - listen to my plea
(chorus)
And if you let me love you - Id show you the way it
Should be
Yes if you let me love you - Ill show you the way it
Should be
Picture a sad man - alone inside his dreams
Its just how I feel when - I try to make you see
That you could have anything if youd - put your trust
In me
(chorus)
Im always afraid of what you might think of me
It could all be the same - the way that it used to be
Picture a castle where - a fool is all you see
Im living in hope that one day - you might rescue me
cos Id wait forever if I - thought youd set me free
(chorus)
song performed by by Outfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Modern Cherub
'Give me a dad who knows his place
And never gives me cheek,
And a mother mild who treats her child
In a docile way, and meek.
Give me a house where a little lad
Is recognised as head,
And home-life's not too beastly bad,'
The little darling said.
'Give me the right to rule to roost
And I'll stay in at night,
And seldom go to the picture show
Or patronise the fight.
But I'll treat complaints with a lordly sniff
If they humbly mention bed.
Precocious parents bore me stiff,'
The sweet young cherub said.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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