The drug party
Four drugged kids were naked in the room
and had removed
every piece of clothing from their bodies.
Sweet sour with a smell
that is almost like khaki-weed,
their marijuana zol’s smell went right through the house.
When I stood at the front door
every thing in the house was ungodly and deadly silent,
as if I walked into a place were the spirit of man can die.
I opened the room door slowly
and there was no innocence to be seen
and only children that were naked on their knees
almost praying,
around that bottle point zol sitting staring
and the stench was more repulsive
than that of vomit or liquor.
Pain went right through my soul
to see children
throwing their lives away like this
and past all reason and other desires,
see them chase the drug god
and to see them lying there
somewhat dead to life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Monologue #5
they will read.
these bald men, with suspenders for their eggs.
these bearded men who smell like dry soil from the desert.
do you know that smell?
i know.
they will wonder, what is this nitwit trying to say?
a mole. a transformation. into a rock, a haven for scorpions.
they will put their pointing finger to their chins.
silence.
contemplation.
dim lights.
beer. so much beer to fill their brains with.
foam.
i am waiting. i am famous now. they are making me the object
of their discussion.
but it will be hurting, they will bombard me with their own
shortcomings.
how they fail. how they stumble in their pride.
they dig their foxholes for defenses.
their children do not know their names.
their mothers are still looking for their
umbilical cords.
for a while they will be drunk
some will dance naked, and their bodies are not good to look at.
ugly.
i vomit. i make the room smell like
the manger where the famous baby was born.
this the place for a beginning.
i do wish them dead. they are needed.
the world will be horrible without them.
i am shaken.
and finally i arrive at the conclusion
that after all, with all of them,
all drunk and lost and
hurting,
life is still worth living.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Room
Your sweet smell of an aroma is all over this room and,
You are the river flowing into my heart;
And like the cocoa from Ivory Coast with a sweet taste,
You are all that i need in this room.
Come and make love to me and,
Let me bear you children;
For your sweet smell of an aroma is all over this room.
This room is made for you and i,
This room will surely take us to the skies!
For you love is the only one needed in this room.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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House for Sale
I stood in the midst of the empty house,
It was silent, empty, and bare,
gone was the laughter the tears and the life,
and the family that once lived there.
I stood there observing, to try to revive
the memories this house had to share,
the secrets, excitement, unhappiness too,
these feelings so willing to bear.
I heard children playing and lapping up life,
I heard adults talking and scolding,
This house bore it all with its solid repose,
and accepted with wisdom beholding.
I stood in the midst of the empty house,
with a feeling of sadness around,
abandoned and empty, a lonely shell,
for the place never uttered a sound,
it was silent and bare, where the rooms had been stripped
and the furniture taken away,
the paint had been scratched and the floor left unwashed
when the house was abandoned that day.
The ghosts from its past walk through each lonely room,
and I sigh as I button my coat,
I slam the front door with an echoing bang
and a lump seems to lodge in my throat-
for there on the green lawn for all eyes to see
with dark letters outstanding on pale
is a board standing taut in the cold winter sun
with the large, lonely wording- "For Sale"
poem by Margaret Hanning
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Past a house
We yesterday
drove past a house
near a shopping centre
and at the front wall
the plaster was broken,
the garden that was something
at a time
was treaded to pieces
and left uncared.
The front door hanged decaying
and when my eyes
walked down the corridor
some of the ceiling was missing,
and the wooden floor
was being used for firewood
It seemed as if the house
was now really becoming a ruin
and a naked black toddler
were crawling outside
and a very thin dog
looked as if it never got food
and my darling said:
“We stayed here at a time
and once this house
belonged to us
and it was a beautiful place
and just see how it looks now.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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About Last Night.....
i finally went to bed at
1: 30 a.m. and when i undress myself
as i usually do,
when i turned off the light
you turned it on
in a little while you while naked
went up bed
and walked towards the door
opened it and then closed it again
as though darkness
when the lights were turned off again
was a big mouth
eating the whole of your naked body
and then
gone
i wished i were asleep.
but it wasn't
because the following morning
the whole room was as silent as
clothes on the floor
without a body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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English Project
I heard an explosion today near our house. I was so scared that I got my gun quickly and looked for my uncle. Surprisingly, he was still asleep in his room. After I checked on him, I ran outside the house and there was smoke and dust everywhere. The stench of gunpowder tickled my nose horribly. I looked for dead people but couldn’t see anything or anyone because of the dust. When the dust lifted up, there were bodies and blood everywhere. At the corner of the building a block away from our house, I saw a familiar body lying on the ground. When I came closer, I realised that it was my friend, Ali, and he was... dead! I was so shocked that I ran into our house and did not leave my bed for the rest of the day. The only thing that I knew that time is that I HATE THIS LAND.
poem by Jas Andrada
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I Am.... (Rotting Wood)
i am...
the old man smell of rotting wood,
the stagnant pool of water,
devoid of life!
the smell of young lust,
and the stink of love over years.
i am the children raised,
and the empty room.
i am the mistakes made,
and the chances long gone.
i am the moments of joy,
that no one can steal.
i am the prayer of the doubter,
the honesty of the naked moment.
i am the naked body of an old man,
where sparrows build nests!
i am the turn of the wheel,
the hum of the beat.
i am the hunger that races
through the darkness by moonlight.
i am the magic and the mystical,
the simple and the plain.
i am the hoot of the owl,
the stranger at the door.
i am the knowing without knowing;
i am dirty, and sweaty,
and covered with sap.
i am the words hidden,
in the growl and the howl....
i am the ghost, and the remembrance,
the touch that made you tremble.
i am the moan in your mirror,
the shadow dancing by your grave!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The White Door
She gave me a call and i went to her room,
And immediately the doors were shut behind me;
But one thing led to the other and,
We finally found ourselves naked on the bed of roses!
The White Door,
But with a tub to the spot of thwe tops! !
There she laid and we made love,
And like the sweet smell of the roses around.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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As I Wait For For You
and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill
i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill
when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it
i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you
i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul
do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep
just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness
we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins
we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sad Story
The old house stood in silence,
no one lives there anymore.
Only memories of the past,
fill each empty room.
Once you stood so proud,
laughter rang out from your walls.
Now only cobwebs and decay inherit there.
What sad story has lead to your decline?
The lights from your windows,
don’t shine there anymore.
Only ghosts from the past,
live in every room.
Ghosts that once brought laughter.
That rang out every night,
are silent and no more
What sad story marks your fall from grace?
Once upon a time,
children played outside your door.
Now only weeds and brambles,
fall across your welcome path.
No more the smiling faces,
greet everyone at your door.
Now that sadness and neglect has fell.
What sad story do you have to tell?
Were there newlyweds,
with their hopes so high?
Did they have their hopes dashed some how,
or was it some great tragedy,
that within your walls befell?
So tragic that it made the silence fall.
What made them desert you to neglect?
What was the sad story, pray tell?
6 April 2007
poem by David Harris
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Yulo....
he passes by the house
though there is a doorbell he calls my name
(in fact, he is shouting that there is a man
with a covered face overtaking him and
takes refuge in the flowering bushes beside the fence)
i compromise and pretend that i agree with him
he is drunk, his wife left him, his children too
and lives in the old house
all alone,
and so where is the man? he says it is a shadow
a robust one, and it is running too fast past him
he is tipsy, his curly hair is glistening with oil
i mean it is unwashed for days
he is with a gay friend, a transvestite and
more beautiful than his wife
there is no man, there is no shadow,
i know, that he is lost, there is nothing to fear
but he has all these fears
of insufficiency, the incapacity to know what the real problem
is.
My house is fenced. I cannot invite one like him and have a drink.
I give him a bottle of whiskey, and tells his transvestite friend to take him
to the old house,
now at least, he is not alone anymore
someone is warm, someone loves him now, perhaps
higher than his dog, that waggles its tail
as soon as the front door is opened.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Lives Alone
She lives alone in a house on a hill.
Sitting in her favourite chair
alone by the window she'd sit and stare
waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to notice the tears in her eye
She lives alone in a house on the river
Standing at the open front door
alone on the porch, she waits for an hour or more
waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to notice the tears in her eye
She lives alone in a house in a wood
Lying in her cold single bed
still and alone, for she is dead
she was waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to be there and say goodbye
poem by Nicola Burkett
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The house that died
An Empty house
An era bygone
Fragrant shadows
Echoes mourn
Smiles and tears
Joyous... morbid
Swift emotions
Of hues myriad
They say we bury
Our emotions alive
And forget in a hurry
But they live and thrive
This house... it lives
Through Echoes and smells
Stored memories behind its walls
Mystic house... story unfurls
A memory for every one who lived
Every single sigh they heaved
A voice whispers to tell the tale
Every memory has a smell
A ball room...under keys and lock
Wooden floor
Smells of rose and holy hock
Symphony rings
True to the core
Dining room
With its sounds
Clatter of spoons
“Cheers”...doing rounds
Nursery room
Giggling smiles
Whispering winds
On broken tiles
A chimney stands
Gathering soot
Smell of fire
Burning wood
And the kitchen
The lover’s nook
For the butler and the cook
Echoes of ladle
Hitting the pan
Boiling pot
And smoking can
A bed room smells of
Shadow and light
Echoes of love talks
Of the passionate lusty nights
The house that died
To live once more
Through smell’s portal and echoes door
Is calling out to you!
poem by Saurabh Som
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By The Fireside : The Open Window
The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.
I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.
The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,
Who would return no more.
They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.
The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet, familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone!
And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Empty Path
Empty path of the Halmahera Guest House
Throughout of oldtime
As old as the dust attached on the door leaf
Old dust attached on the wall
And dark room
Where painting laid
From the mad life
Throughout the cantings
In the room corner
When my soul cried
Fighting to myself
fighting alone interpreting the dream
in the old well
the old man catch chiken
and drinking black wine
eat some rice
with the black lips
where nicotin and bear aroma
smell around his face
in the old well
cried his brokenlove
where I am alone
sat on the rattan chair
smell of
the naughty wind blowing
fall of some old bamboo leaf
opened the envelope
contens of pray and word
love disappointment
cut through all the word
Bogor 12 Desember 2001
poem by Prasetya Utama
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In That Common Room Where You Are No Longer Alone
your eyes are open
as you are fully alive when you go
back to that old house
by the river
named after
sin,
you open the door
your hands are too willing
and you enter
a dusty room
where you shall be alone
for a while
you smell sin there
and you
get to know it better
beyond its name and
place of origin
you identify with it
and there is no fear now
you talk for a while
and then
it urges you to go naked
and close your eyes
to enter upon
a world where everyone is
welcome
you drink and dance and
become tipsy
lights begin to play
and shouts of joy are heard
in this totally
transformed world
you are not alone now
in this indulgence
you have become counted
without
any hesitation
your mind explodes into
four seasons
compressed in time
and the guarantee of
total satisfaction is handed to you
like a key to
your permanent room
since then
you are so alive
and death has become
too irrelevant
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Before you bloom
I wonder if I'll see you in the future
will we cross paths
and commuinate face to face
not over a computer?
I know we grew apart
but perhaps
when we've finished growing we can make a new start
If I have money ill open up a bar
so we can have that lunch
hey
we can go for a drive to the coutry side in my car
we can go for a boat ride
we can sit on the hill top in platfields park
getting drunk in the sun until it becomes dark
we can leave the car
and we can get a taxi.
Your asleep on my shoulder
Im looking out of the window wishing upon a star
I awake you when we arrive
and when you get out Im left with the smell of your perfume
the driver smiles
and I tell him
I didnt go with you
because I know you havnt got the room
because youve got a husband and two kids
we are two friends
you are the love I was once with
we were two kids.
The driver takes me back to where I used to live
Im a stranger in a home thats a sweat home
the neighbours are new and Im stood all alone
in the dark looking,
staring at my house
I dont wanna knock I tell myself they're out
I stand staring
still
the lights are on but I know
it means theres nobody home
and I
I'm ready to go when the blinds move to the side
a ten year old boy looks at me and waves good bye
he smiles
he looks happy
he doesnt look sad
yet Im looking at a house where theres no mum
theres no dad.
Going to the park to get my car
I ring you
I remember what you said
I let you go.
I knew you had to put the kids to bed.
I'm Sitting on the hill
I'm whishing I was looking into your eyes
instead
Im alone
watching a lonley sunrise
boy and girl they are on a boat ride
and I can still smell your perfume
us kids
we're like flowers
we bloom
We do
I just whish I'd have bloomed with you.
poem by Daniel McCann
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We Are The Children
We are the children who never got to be children
We all grew up too fast
We are the children who cried silent tears
Praying it wouldn't last
We are the children who practised their smile
Hiding all the pain inside
We are the children who couldn't get away
Got dragged along for the ride
So now hear my prayer
Let the children smile
Don't take away their youth and innocence
Let them be kids for a while
So now join this march
For the children's rights
Don't lock them away in the cold and the dark
Just give them a shining light
The kids don't work they do my head in
Just remember it's coz of all the lies you spin
You think it's messed up now - just wait till you're old
You never made those memories out of gold
The kids they cry
Every single night
Just let them smile
And see the light
poem by Alex Daydream
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HOE HOUSE...by talile ali
HOE HOUSE
IF YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS
WHEN DOIN IT RUNS AMUCK
HOE HOUSE
THE MOMMA LIKES TO DO IT
SO DO HER LITTLE DUCKS
HOE HOUSE
SHE DOESN'T WANT THEM DOIN
SOME LAZY KNOTHEAD CHUMPS
HOE HOUSE
THEN SHE GETS ALL DRUNKED UP
AND DOES SOME LAZY BLIND KNOTHEAD CHUMP
HOE HOUSE
THE CHILDREN THEY CAN HEAR HER
WHEN SHE STARTS TO WAIL
HOE HOUSE
DOING ANY FELLA
BEFORE SHE GOES TO HELL
HOE HOUSE
SHE WILL DO'EM NASTY
IN THE RAW OR IN THE MOUTH
HOE HOUSE
WHILE HER BABIES LISTEN
THEY DRESS AND LEAVE THE HOUSE
HOE HOUSE
SHE TELL'S THEM 'IT'S NOT NOTHING'
'JUST A LIL FIX'
HOE HOUSE
THEY COULD NEVER BELIEVE HER
SHE'S JUST UP TO HER TRICKS
HOE HOUSE
WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW IS
IF THEY GET FUCKED, I SWEAR
HOE HOUSE
THESE BABE'S THEY JUST CANT HELP YOU
CAUSE THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED
HOE HOUSE
YOU'RE THEIR GOD, THEIR TEACHER
THEIR EVER SHINING LIGHT
HOE HOUSE
THE SUCCUBUS IN SEX
THE BLIND, AND DICK, AND SCARY
HOE HOUSE
IS SHE SO SURPRISED
WHEN HER GIRL'S ARE DEAD AND BURIED
HOE HOUSE
WHATS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE
AINT SO GOOD WHEN THEY'RE DUCKLINGS
HOE HOUSE
DON'T BE SO SURPRISED
WHEN THE FRUIT IS REALLY RANCID
HOE HOUSE
WITH THE FELLA'S IN THEIR RAGE
FINISHED HER STOUT BEFORE THEY LANCE IT
HOE HOUSE
SHE'S SO PISSED
HER BABE'S JUST CAN'T HELP HER
HOE HOUSE
WITH A BUNCHA SAD JACKS
HANGIN ALL AROUND TO ENHANCE HER
HOE HOUSE
THEY CAN SMELL THE BREWERY
WAITING TO GET POUND
HOE HOUSE
CHILDREN CAN ONLY SEE
WHAT THEY LEARN AND WHAT THEY FOUND
HOE HOUSE
IF MOM IS DEEP INTO DOING IT
THE GIRLS WILL TRY AT LEAST
HOE HOUSE
YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE THEM
THE'RE STILL NEW TO THE FEAST
HOE HOUSE
I LIVED IN A HOE HOUSE
I DON'T HAVE A LOT
THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING
I CAN SAY TO MAKE IT STOP
TO ALL THAT LOVE HOEING,
THE BLOWING, AND WHAT NOT
THE LUST FOR NOT GROWING
IS ALL THAT THEY'VE GOT
IT WAS MY BIGGEST FEAR
EVERY NIGHT, EVERY YEAR
CAUSE IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM
MY GIRLS ARE NOW DOING IT, IT'S CLEAR
WHAT CAN I SAY?
I DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE THEM THAT WAY!
SO IF YOU SEE THAT YOU
ARE LIVING LIKE ME
HOE HOUSE
GRAB UP ALL YOUR BABIES
AND LEAVE THIS INSANITY
HOE HOUSE
poem by Talile Ali
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