Ritual gives
Ritual give no fruit
This is not new.
My words are old
Presentation new
That make you
Understand easy.
Ritual give no fruit
Engaged not yourself
To kill vluable time
Use the rhyme.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Hair
The ritual evanesced when we observed it,
The ritual completed when our lice grew.
The head was full of lice, I hear them and saw each of them,
Restraining the children with feet, the arms also.
Inexorable lice swayed in the hair of our heads
Until the ritual was entire.
What is this ritual?
The ritual is of the dressing of hair,
Or the cutting of hair by the hairdresser.
poem by Naveed Akram
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To my critics [Criticilor mei]
On the earth are many flowers,
But a few bear fruit and thrive,
All of them knock at the life's gate,
Many though can't stay alive.
It is easy to make poems
When you have nothing to say,
Writing empty words on paper,
Which are nothing but cliche.
But the day your heart is flooded
By desires and by woe
And your mind, hearing them shouting,
Is excited by their flow,
When like flowers at the life's gate,
All these knock at your mind's door,
Asking you to give them freedom,
To allow them to speak more,
For your passions and desires
And for your entire life,
Where will be your severe judges,
The eyes watching you with strife?
Oh! You'll feel as if the sky falls
On your shoulders in no time,
How will you express the truth then,
How you'll find the word and rhyme?
You, my critics, useless flowers,
Without fruit, prone to decay –
It is easy to make poems
When you have nothing to say.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Reason And Cause For Their Pain
Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Someone is complaining...
About being misunderstood.
Everyday as if a ritual,
Fault is being made...
About someone else.
Everyday as if a ritual,
People are accused...
For something they didn't do.
Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Some believes they have the right...
To excuse themselves of responsibility.
And everyday,
Someone is left to feel alone...
Still not getting the connection,
Between their misdeeds...
Aches and pains.
And those heartbreaks they receive,
They have come to perceive...
No one else has known!
And everyday without fail,
As sure as the ticking of a clock is heard...
These people will not see themselves,
The reason and cause for their pain.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Seed Within
what are you going to do?
he might ask
are you going to wait
are you going to wait
for the seed to take root
bloom and bear fruit
leave it to me
he might say
i will give you the fruit in a capsule
you give me your seed...why toil
he would ploy
A FRUIT IN A CAPSULE IS'NT A FRUIT AT ALL
The path too is a joy
the growth too is a joy
from the seed to the fruit
a spiritual share is a joy too
the giver and the taker share the joy
if it was a share
which gave you joy
how can you use it
as a ploy
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Ritual is the way you carry the presence of the sacred. Ritual is the spark that must not go out.
quote by Christina Baldwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forbidden Fruit
all the forbidden fruit I ever
dreamt of--or was taught to
resist and fear--ripens and
blossoms under the palms of my
hands as they uncover and explore
you--and in the most secret
corners of my heart as it discovers
and adores you--the forbidden fruit
of forgiveness--the forbidden fruit
of finally feeling the happiness
you were afraid you didn't deserve--
the forbidden fruit of my life's labor
--the just payment I have avoided
since my father taught me how--
the forbidden fruit of the secret
language of our survivors' souls as
they unfold each others secret
ballots--the ones where we voted
for our first secret desires to come
true--there's so much more
I want to say to you--but for
the first time in my life I'm at
a loss for words--because
(I understand at last)
I don't need them
to be heard by you.
Submitted by Venus
poem by Michael Lally
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But, you know, they don't enjoy the dinner hour together. It's just not as much of a ritual at night and it's interesting. I think the ritual is taking place perhaps more in the morning.
quote by Katie Couric
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Tree's Fruit
Good fruit or bad fruit, a tree can only bear one,
This parable was taught by God's one and only Son.
First mentioned by John as a warning for the Pharisees to heed,
But being blind to The Truth, most of them would not believe.
Your life is the tree and your deeds are the fruit,
This is a simple analogy that it hard to dispute.
But the Pharisees who knew the Word and lived in the land,
Were rebuked by John the Baptist, as they didn't understand.
Christians need to produce fruit for the Lord and nothing less,
And all the fruit that we produce should be fruits of righteousness.
Our old nature will produce fruit that comes from the past,
Not only is this fruit bad, but it's the kind that won't last.
Not only is bearing good fruit The Lord's heart desire,
But trees that continue to bear bad fruit may be cast in the fire.
Within your own heart is where the good or bad fruit is stored,
And by your fruits men will know you, is made clear by The Lord.
The fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, was once said,
However, a tree that bears bad fruit may be eternally dead.
What fruit you produce is strictly your choice my dear friend,
And by this choice you will either be blessed or condemned.
( 03/2002)
My Ritual
My blood moves
I feel all right
My ritual followed us to paradise
My blood moves
I feel all right
Dont touch me
Cuz Ive had too much to feel tonight
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its gettin easy not to suffer all the time
My good time
I feel all right
My ritual followed us to paradise
My blood moves I feel all right
Dont touch me cuz youre still too much to feel tonight
Not tonight, I repeat, me over
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its getting easy not to suffer all the time
My sense of humor might have narrowed with my age
But happy anarchy is all I really crave
Trying to be good, while I get my fill
Will I get what I need?
I dont know if I will
When I take it in , will I make it my own again
My own again
My good time, I feel all right
My ritual got my through another night
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its getting easy not to suffer all the time
My sense of humor might have narrowed with my age
But happy anarchy is all I really crave
Its all I want. its all I need
So come over.
song performed by by Folk Implosion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XIX: Fruits
grow the fruit till it's big enough
grow the fruit till the color turns red
grow the fruit till it smells good
grow the fruit to be cooked
don't be tricked of what is edible
a beautiful fruit can be sour
a big fruit can be raw
a delicious fruit can be poison
a cooked fruit can be forbidden
be careful of what is edible
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Pukllay Harmony Restoration Blood Battles
sport many sports
embody a ritual of combat
trial by body muscles
instead of blood
letting battles in times
of repetitive wars
Andean festival of Pukllay
incorporated a time of ritual battles
between neighboring communities
‘Yawar Mayu' offering river of blood
in restored harmony cleansed a years
ill will between neighboring communities
conquering Spanish outlawed
community ritual battles of Pukllay
continued in remote Andean regions
battles were held at boundaries
between neighboring communities
men from the two communities
gathered to ritual battles fight
while women would sing songs
encouraging their local men
to stand to be brave to not
fear the river of blood
as battle took various forms
two opposing neighboring sides
might throw hard unripe fruit
or men might form opposing lines
strike neighboring men
with their warak'a slings
or fight close with staffs
what was aim important
some blood must be spilt
as an offering to Pachamama
blood offerings
to the great Being
who is mother earth
blood offerings
to the Apus
the Beings
who are majestic
mountain peaks
to Sacred Sites
what if a man died
during ‘Yawar Mayu' fight
a ritual rare event
his body was buried
as further offering on site
to the sacred Beings
in many modern sports skill
courage endurance even blood
is offered up in necessary games
there is a human need to vent
frustrations disharmony ill will
community balance restored
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Metaphor Is Easy To Make
a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall
remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea
remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying
remember time in a bottle
remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly
remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain
just like that
remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end
loneliness
life is like that
you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose
, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose
mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry
good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry
it does not matter
give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings
you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors
so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man
make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions
make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,
bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors
and you are happy
they do not understand a thing
and they will believe that you are God.
for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it
unquestionable.
let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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36
a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall
remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea
remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying
remember time in a bottle
remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly
remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain
just like that
remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end
loneliness
life is like that
you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose
, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose
mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry
good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry
it does not matter
give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings
you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors
so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man
make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions
make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,
bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors
and you are happy
they do not understand a thing
and they will believe that you are God.
for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it
unquestionable.
let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prison As Metaphor
The time was almost right
for the recitation of a poem
when the judge asked me
if I had anything to say before sentencing.
I wanted to say Yes – why the 'anything to say' ritual?
To make me squirm
before the varnished gavel comes down?
Oh, and why the gavel ritual?
But I said No.
I am guilty
so there is nothing else you need to know about me,
My crime, not me,
sits in a cell with green walls
When I arrived I would not lie down
Because that would make it my home
A voice on the radio says
“My life feels like prison.”
I want them to use a different metaphor.
One that doesn’t suck my life up
and turn it into a little diorama with plastic figurines
in aluminum foil chains
Behind bars made of pretzels
As if I could eat my way out of here
poem by Michael Philips
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The Rituals
Doing with spirit is spiritual.
Doing without it is just ritual.
Spiritual one is of inspiration.
Ritual one is of superstition.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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For The Love Of Chocolate Fondue
No one seems to understand the pleasure
With every mouthful it gets harder to measure
Give us chocolate give us fruit
Forget the Sex no matter how cute!
From just the very first bite
We have found o our delight
Something hot and lush to quench our appetite
It dont ditch you for something better
It dont tell you how you are wrong
It dont make you do something you dont wanna do
Chocolate fondue o yes Chocolate Fondue is only going to concentrate on you!
We have no idea why we have such a love
For the delicious melt in your mouth Treat
All we know is that what men are not able to give us we can eat
So give us chocolate and leave all of the men
But we might consider giving it all up
If the man was a F***ing perfect 10!
poem by Gracie lou
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Tin Soldier
I am the little tin soldier
That wants to jump into your fire
You, oh, look in your eye
A dream passing by in the skies
I dont understand
All I need is to treat me like a man
I aint no child, take me like I am
Ive got some love
That belongs to you
Ill do anything that you want me to
Ill sing any song that you want me
To sing to you
All I need is your whispered hello
Smile smelting the snow
Nothing heard
Your eyes, oh, deeper than time
I see a love that wont
Rhyme without words
So now bless my way
I need help to show me
Things to say
Give me your love
Before mine breaks away
I dont need no aggrevation
I just got to make you
I just got to make you understand
I just want some reaction
Someone to give me satisfaction
I love you
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fruit Tree
Fame is but a fruit tree
So very unsound.
It can never flourish
Till its stalk is in the ground.
So men of fame
Can never find a way
Till time has flown
Far from their dying day.
Forgotten while youre here
Remembered for a while
A much updated ruin
From a much outdated style.
Life is but a memory
Happened long ago.
Theatre full of sadness
For a long forgotten show.
Seems so easy
Just to let it go on by
Till you stop and wonder
Why you never wondered why.
Safe in the womb
Of an everlasting night
You find the darkness can
Give the brightest light.
Safe in your place deep in the earth
Thats when theyll know what you were really worth.
Forgotten while youre here
Remembered for a while
A much updated ruin
From a much outdated style.
Fame is but a fruit tree
So very unsound.
It can never flourish
Till its stalk is in the ground.
So men of fame
Can never find a way
Till time has flown
Far from their dying day.
Fruit tree, fruit tree
No-one knows you but the rain and the air.
Dont you worry
Theyll stand and stare when youre gone.
Fruit tree, fruit tree
Open your eyes to another year.
Theyll all know
That you were here when youre gone.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Communion
Ive touched some objects of faith more precious than pieces of eight.
Seen sacred places and ritual ways, but for communion lets go to my place.
I learned to pray on my knees.
Been taken in hand, if you please.
Had my own revelations, ideas about fate, but for communion lets go to my place.
So as the body, so as the blood, sacred as the soul is to love.
Dont be mistaken if you dont understand, divinely simple.
Part of the plan.
Take!
Eat!
This is my body!
I give it to you.
Take!
Drink!
This is my blood.
Do it in remembrance of me (so you wont forget me).
Now, Ive been a witness of grace.
Ive stared sacred days in the face.
The long long parade of ritual ways, but for communion lets go to my place.
Sacred stories are told.
Theyre passed on like pieces of gold.
So make your conclusions, consider your fate, and for communion lets go to my place.
Are you ready?
Are you ready for communion?
song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My heart is heavy
My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree,
But I can never give you one --
My songs do not belong to me.
Yet in the evening, in the dusk
When moths go to and fro,
In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen,
Take it, no one will know.
poem by Sara Teasdale
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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