My Search for The Perfect Host
When the sun comes up I’m going to a place
that I’ve never visited before.
I’m a little apprehensive about the return trip
because I enter through a one way door.
To my knowledge no one has been there
and come back to let me know.
It is accepted that one doesn’t return
after they have left to go.
Despite that fact, I need to visit a man
who died many years ago.
I don’t expect to see him looking well
he’ll be more of a spiritual glow.
He’s the only one who can give me answers
to the questions that are troubling me
about this man I met about a week ago
who looked and spoke the same as he.
Now I’m not one to believe in reincarnation,
it seems too far fetched to me,
so I have to find out the truth about this guy
who behaved so naive and innocently.
I liked this guy, but he seemed just like an echo
of the man who was once my host.
The whole situation brings me to question my ethics
on his suitability to fill the soon to be vacant post.
However I do have a problem about the visit,
with regret I must leave my current host.
That means the soul will be left decidedly dead,
and on his way to become a ghost.
Maybe I could accompany him on his journey,
just to keep him company, so to speak,
and maybe I could introduce him to past hosts,
this is going to be a hell of a busy week!
poem by Orlando Belo
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Related quotes
Visit For As Long As You Wish
You may visit upon this land.
But to force debate of its direction...
Is not a matter to be question.
Or demand answers you expect.
Because you believe another way,
For its inhabitants is best.
You may visit for as long as you wish.
Enjoy the ambiance, hospitality...
And the peacefulness.
But suggestions from you,
Regarding the enhancements done...
To the view and our lifestyles too?
For us is not accepted.
Conflicts on this land...
You will not inject.
If you have motives and plans for this...
You will be ushered to experience,
A respected yet definite sudden exit.
We are not in need,
For a financed confusion that infuses deceit.
To have you label it democracy.
You may visit for as long as you wish.
And when your visit is finished...
You will leave and that will be it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.
He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.
He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart --
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a match last week.
So he asked all the bushies who came from afar
To visit the town last week
If the'd dine with him, and they said "Hurrah!"
But there wasn't a drop in the whisky jar --
You should have been here last week,
He said,
I drank it all up last week!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Probing Questions
Is there something more to life, than endless days of toil and strife?
Is there something after all of this; a Hell below or a Heavenly Bliss?
Can there truly be life after death, this when we take our final breath?
That question always asked is why; do innocent people have to die?
Why do righteous people perish, while evil seems to always flourish?
Friend is there truly a Living God, who rules above the earth we trod?
And does God truly care for us; mortal beings that return to the dust?
Can anyone have true peace of mind, in this world that is so unkind?
Why’s there evil darkness everywhere, if He is a God filled with care?
And why would a God full of love, simply sit and watch from above?
These are just a few of many more, questions asked about my Lord,
Questions that you may have asked; some in the not so distant past.
Many questions are Satan’s reproof, to keep many from God’s Truth,
Let none of them keep you from, Christ who from Heaven has come,
With answers to these and more, on questions about Heaven’s Door.
The Spirit leads to God’s Word, with the answers to questions heard,
Eternal answers which you will find, fill your heart not just your mind.
Where God not just answers them, but gives new life to all my friend.
Then all the questions are second to, the Eternal Life He’s given you.
And now an answer in my life, is to Heaven I’m going in Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©06/2007)
Your Last Drive
Here by the moorway you returned,
And saw the borough lights ahead
That lit your face - all undiscerned
To be in a week the face of the dead,
And you told of the charm of that haloed view
That never again would beam on you.
And on your left you passed the spot
Where eight days later you were to lie,
And be spoken of as one who was not;
Beholding it with a cursory eye
As alien from you, though under its tree
You soon would halt everlastingly.
I drove not with you…. Yet had I sat
At your side that eve I should not have seen
That the countenance I was glancing at
Had a last-time look in the flickering sheen,
Nor have read the writing upon your face,
'I go hence soon to my resting-place;
'You may miss me then. But I shall not know
How many times you visit me there,
Or what your thoughts are, or if you go
There never at all. And I shall not care.
Should you censure me I shall take no heed
And even your praises I shall not need.'
True: never you'll know. And you will not mind.
But shall I then slight you because of such?
Dear ghost, in the past did you ever find
Me one whom consequence influenced much?
Yet the fact indeed remains the same,
You are past love, praise, indifference, blame.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Host
Questions, only questions
answers of those questions
you cannot find here.
Go, Go, and go
Where to go
please do not ask.
We are all here in a cage
and we all are guest
who is there to host
I do not know.
So many things I do not knoe
ask me not.
Go, go alone, all alone
If you find somewhere
something that is yours.
I do not know
What is there to say
with the host.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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My Spooky Life
At times, my life borders on the paranormal,
witnessing things and hearing things
I cannot readily explain.
Ghosts enter and exit my life on a regular basis.
I’ve witnessed a ball of light fall from the night sky
and then return back to the heavens.
I’ve seen a house burn down until there was nothing left
and a year later I witnessed it do it again
on the anniversary of the first time.
I’ve seen a woman open a door and enter a room,
but when I went to find her moments later,
there was no one there.
I had a conversation with myself to a friend
and a week later, that conversation
took place word for word for real.
It may sound spooky,
but it brings me no fear
as not of it can hurt me
and only I can do that with fear.
(28 June 2011)
poem by David Harris
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Zero Options
At first I thought I was day dreaming,
but very soon I realised I was not.
The man I was looking at died weeks ago
from an overdose of cocaine and pot.
The man I once knew saw me staring,
his pupils were gone from his eyes.
He was obviously a dead man walking,
and I hadn’t the time to ask him why.
My mind was in chaos with the situation;
it was unreal and just couldn’t be true.
But it was, and to prove it, I saw him,
but why, and what was I to do?
For a week I was edgy and scared witless,
and hoped I’d never see him again.
The early hours brought a knock at the door,
and someone out there spoke my name.
I looked through the door’s spy-hole,
and it was the man who was dead.
I told him this wasn’t the time for visitors,
and to come back at mid-day instead.
He said it was urgent that he spoke with me,
and I was to go with him right a way.
If I didn’t the consequences would be terrible,
and the ‘evil one’ would have the last say.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Take Your Eyes Off Of My Treasured Space
Take your eyes off of my treasured space.
Not an inch of it here is yours to be shared.
You are welcome to visit and admire,
The peace kept within it.
And when your visit is over...
The front door will open.
And through it you will leave.
Hopefully with less curiousity...
As to what your decorating additions will be.
There will be none.
I have all the fun I've had,
Doing what you see myself.
And in the doing of it,
Was one of the best experiences I've had!
Enjoyed with no one else.
It was such a selfish joy!
Take your eyes off of my treasured space.
Not an inch of it here is yours to be shared.
You are welcome to visit and admire,
The peace kept within it.
And when your visit is over...
The front door will open.
And through it you will leave.
With an understood appreciation...
How glad I was to have you visit with me.
But you staying here is out of the question!
Although the time together,
Was enjoyable and well spent.
Give my regards to 'old' Broadway.
And other streets on which we played.
Back in the 'day'.!
There is nothing like a peace of mind,
I can find in any room I choose!
The air is fresh and absent of attitudes.
Sometimes just to sit in silence,
Energizes me with motivation.
Give me a call.
Maybe one day we can do lunch.
And exchange more of our fantasies!
While reminiscing as we munch,
And free from any temptation to aggravate.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Broke Me
you broke me,
you let me fall,
you never looked back,
you just kept walking.
How could you,
just leave me there,
on my knees begging,
for your return.
I loved you and still do,
i always have and always will,
you need me,
like i need you.
i know you feel it,
you love me too,
but your too far now,
you can't return.
we had something,
something strong,
no one could break it,
until you walked away.
i never thought you would,
but you did,
walked out that door,
never to come back.
tears fell and hit the floor,
they still do,
but i will never let it go,
never forget that day.
you feel it,
hell you still do,
you just dont want to,
you think it's done.
i know you want me to crawl back,
but never will you see that day,
i'm stronger than that,
life will catch up to you.
time will tell,
tell you that it's you,
you left so it's gone,
i'm moving on.
i hate to say it but,
i'm glad this happened,
i now see the truth,
of whom you really are.
so goodbye,
good luck,
i hope to see you,
never...
poem by Katherine Bryce
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I Believe
Valerie solanis took the elevator
Got off at the 4th floor
Valerie solanis took the elevator
Got off at the 4th floor
She pointed the gun at andy saying
You cannot control me anymore
I believe theres got to be some retribution
I believe an eye for an eye is elemental
I believe that somethings wrong if shes alive right now
Valerie solanis took three steps
Pointing at the floor
Valerie solanis waved her gun
Pointing at the floor
From inside her idiot madness spoke and bang
Andy fell onto the floor
I believe lifes serious enough for retribution
I believe being sick is no excuse and -
I believe I wouldve pulled the switch on her myself
When they got him to the hospital
His pulse was gone they thought that he was dead
His guts were pouring from his wounds
Onto the floor they thought that he was dead
Not until years later would
The hospital do to him what she could not
What she could not
Where were you, you didnt come to see me
Andy said, I think I died, why didnt you come to see me
Andy said, it hurt so much, they took blood from my hand
I believe theres got to be some retribution
I believe theres got to be some retribution
I believe we are all the poorer for it now
Visit me, visit me
Visit me, visit me
Visit me, why didnt you visit me
Visit me, why didnt you visit me
Visit me, visit me
Visit me, why didnt you visit me
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Wearied
Return to me like a ghost, a wearied creature like a man
Who was so appalled by youth that he died and became as I can.
Return to me as if you know me from somewhere else,
The place is no secret from where you came, someone else.
Return now, return and frighten me as a good ghost
Frying bacon, working magic on a basis easternmost.
I seek refuge from you, for the returning is so secret,
I can not find a more evil man than you, a man to interpret.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Am Far Away From Where I Am
I AM FAR AWAY FROM WHERE I AM
I am far away from where I am-
I often am-
It is not that there are two sides of me
Or three or four
It is not that I know anything about who
My real self is-
I suppose ‘I am' all the time I am conscious
And what that means I also don't know-
There are so many questions and so many questions -
I am here now
I am writing this
Soon I will be on my way to Minchah
I have done the shopping today
And walked from ‘Rami Levi' in the rain
My wife and I have talked and talked
About many things
I spoke with my daughter also
This afternoon I will meet with a friend
Another ailing friend will have to wait next week for a visit-
I know that all the details of a life
Do not tell us what a self is,
But without our histories
What are we?
I felt that I was far away from where I am when I began this poem,
Now I don't know exactly where I am-
Far or not-
I am just sitting writing here
A rainy day in spring
And nearly seventy years behind me-
My real self is a question
And I will ask it I suppose as long as I continue thinking
On this earth -
I don't mind not knowing
I after all assume I do know-
Life has many contradictions
And unsolved questions-
Who we really are even to ourselves
Is one of them-
Thank God there has been so much Love and Goodness
From other people in my life
And that there is still now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Member of the guesthouse
member of the guesthouse come from
the same senior highschool who
enter the different department and different university
they understood eachother
And help the other difficulties
To solve their problem everyday
They know that Elizabeth is my fiancée
And no one from them will disturbed our relationship
The only problem come from outside
When PLN staff comes to visit her
Almost every week
He parking his car in front of her guesthouse
I jealous and visit her everyday
An hour after arrive from Pagelaran Learning
Sometime we talking with him allday long
Until he goes home and I still not going home
Talking with her
Really that day is very boring day, jealous and angry
And I hope I want kept him out from the guesthouse
That day come
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Introduction To Aggravation
The only thing that is guaranteed
One will experience
During this process called life
And one should expect
With a minimal of agitation expressed
Will be that introduction to aggravation
It will have a way of becoming familiar
However
Let its presence be known and quickly shown
A tolerating of it is not accepted
And your visit with it will not be too long
Let it know upfront you are not the host of the party
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Sphynx
Several weeks ago for the first time I saw a furless cat
stretching out its claws and long slender back.
I was stunned by this creature, with its pale red skin,
its demand of my attention was most unsettling.
For the next few days I kept picturing it in my mind,
and I knew one just like it I had to find.
I was so determined to delve and research the breed,
so I obtained as many books as I could read.
I soon discovered the feline known as the Sphynx,
and initially I thought it had Egyptian links,
but the Canadians are supposed to have bred the cat,
so that very quickly put an end to that.
The next day I wanted more answers to my questions,
so the pet shops I visited and asked for suggestions.
The breeders were the ones to see, but they are rare,
the internet was suggested, so I searched on there.
I found a breeder and arranged a visit the following day,
what a charismatic woman, in a sleek feline way.
She believed the sphynx was in fact a reincarnation
of Sekhmet, the Egyptian goddess of the sun.
She asked how I knew of this particular breed of cat,
I told her about the one I saw, and it was as simple as that.
She told me of the power of this daughter of Isis and Osiris,
and how she was the protector, and defender of the darkness.
She believed that the meeting of our lives was meant to be,
and maybe we would fulfil the ancient prophesy.
She took me to see the sphynxs’ that she had for sale,
after discussing their characters, I bought a female.
I didn’t actually choose her, she actually chose me;
how could I turn down such a meant to be beauty.
In the car I spoke to her and gave her the name Tefnut,
she raised her head, as if her name was very well put.
I don’t believe in reincarnation or anything like that,
but she seemed to be a lot more than any ordinary cat.
She visited my dreams as a dark skinned temptress;
a woman who spoke in riddles of seduction and sex.
Her every night-time visits brought immense happiness
until her character changed, bringing nothing, but stress.
She demanded we leave the UK and set up home in Egypt,
and live out the prophesy Osiris took time to predict.
In my dreams it was easy to believe and live life her way,
but it was not possible in the reality of day.
I told her that our destinies were not to be the same,
and later that day, I never saw her again.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Canto V — Byckerment
"Don't they consult the 'Victims,' though?"
I said. "They should, by rights,
Give them a chance — because, you know,
The tastes of people differ so,
Especially in Sprites."
The Phantom shook his head and smiled.
"Consult them? Not a bit!
'Twould be a job to drive one wild,
To satisfy one single child —
There'd be no end to it!"
"Of course you can't leave children free,"
Said I, "to pick and choose:
But, in the case of men like me,
I think 'Mine Host' might fairly be
Allowed to state his views."
He said "It really wouldn't pay —
Folk are so full of fancies.
We visit for a single day,
And whether then we go, or stay,
Depends on circumstances.
"And, though we don't consult 'Mine Host'
Before the thing's arranged,
Still, if he often quits his post,
Or is not a well-mannered Ghost,
Then you can have him changed.
"But if the host's a man like you —
I mean a man of sense;
And if the house is not too new — "
"Why, what has that," said I, "to do
With Ghost's convenience?"
"A new house does not suit, you know —
It's such a job to trim it:
But, after twenty years or so,
The wainscotings begin to go,
So twenty is the limit."
"To trim" was not a phrase I could
Remember having heard:
"Perhaps," I said, "you'll be so good
As tell me what is understood
Exactly by that word?"
"It means the loosening all the doors,"
The Ghost replied, and laughed:
"It means the drilling holes by scores
In all the skirting-boards and floors,
To make a thorough draught.
"You'll sometimes find that one or two
Are all you really need
To let the wind come whistling through —
But here there'll be a lot to do!"
I faintly gasped "Indeed!
"If I 'd been rather later, I'll
Be bound," I added, trying
(Most unsuccessfully) to smile,
"You'd have been busy all this while,
Trimming and beautifying?"
"Why, no," said he; "perhaps I should
Have stayed another minute —
But still no Ghost, that's any good,
Without an introduction would
Have ventured to begin it.
"The proper thing, as you were late,
Was certainly to go:
But, with the roads in such a state,
I got the Knight-Mayor's leave to wait
For half an hour or so."
"Who's the Knight-Mayor?" I cried. Instead
Of answering my question,
"Well, if you don't know that," he said,
"Either you never go to bed,
Or you've a grand digestion!
"He goes about and sits on folk
That eat too much at night:
His duties are to pinch, and poke,
And squeeze them till they nearly choke."
(I said "It serves them right!")
"And folk who sup on things like these — "
He muttered, "eggs and bacon —
Lobster — and duck — and toasted cheese —
If they don't get an awful squeeze,
I'm very much mistaken!
"He is immensely fat, and so
Well suits the occupation:
In point of fact, if you must know,
We used to call him years ago,
The Mayor And Corporation!
"The day he was elected Mayor
I know that every Sprite meant
To vote for me, but did not dare —
He was so frantic with despair
And furious with excitement.
"When it was over, for a whim,
He ran to tell the King;
And being the reverse of slim,
A two-mile trot was not for him
A very easy thing.
"So, to reward him for his run
(As it was baking hot,
And he was over twenty stone),
The King proceeded, half in fun,
To knight him on the spot."
"'Twas a great liberty to take!"
(I fired up like a rocket).
"He did it just for punning's sake:
'The man,' says Johnson, 'that would make
A pun, would pick a pocket!'"
"A man," said he, "is not a King."
I argued for a while,
And did my best to prove the thing —
The Phantom merely listening
With a contemptuous smile.
At last, when, breath and patience spent,
I had recourse to smoking —
"Your aim," he said, "is excellent:
But — when you call it argument —
Of course you're only joking?"
Stung by his cold and snaky eye,
I roused myself at length
To say "At least I do defy
The veriest sceptic to deny
That union is strength!"
"That's true enough," said he, "yet stay — "
I listened in all meekness —
"Union is strength, I'm bound to say;
In fact, the thing's as clear as day;
But onions are a weakness."
poem by Lewis Carroll from Phantasmagoria
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Silence
silence is when you simply
read the lines of the person you miss
and stop right there
you remember the past
with no regret you say
she was your first love
the first penetrating love that you cannot ever forget
like an arrow from a bow with a string stretched that far
shooting deep into the chambers of your heart
that you can hardly breathe
you almost die because of too much bliss
you stay there
like a vacant chair outside unkind for the night
thinking some more
what if you did not say the words which hurt her
you could have been together still
happy with each other
you could have given her children
there would have been laughter and chasing and playing
in the room of your house
you stare at the window which is open
to a place far away
there is no regret
you keep on saying that
there are no possibilities anymore for the chains of love to reconnect
there is no more bond
to a past left to rot in the gutters
to your wise judgment
she is dead
and she must be dead forever
you are honest enough to admit that at one time you love her
and you gave her that love without expecting something in return
it is sad
she never loved you
she felt nothing
even with the feeling of the smallest grain of sand
facts and facts of a broken heart healing itself with years and years
of bitterness
it is alright now that you have survived in that faraway land
with some autumns and winters
and summers and springs
do you feel better now? no regrets, bury her and say some prayers too
like you were one of the merry men without sighs because their
wives left them
and they felt it was for their own
good and that at the end
all will be
back at their right places
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Making Mistakes
now, i too have learned to live with mistakes.
i have accepted the idea that mistakes
sometimes come uninvited in the house of our own
imperfections
you comment that this should have been that
a post here and less light over there
a rug is better neutral in color
a bird should not be caged
and i listened carefully to every advise that you make
i nodded you have better ideas and i assured you
that i always take note of what you say,
and then when the party is over
and when all of you leave and i am left alone
i stand beside the door waving my hand
letting all of you go, and saying
take care, God bless us all, and have a nice trip back home,
i heave a sigh and goes back to the place where we were seated
i put my hands back on the table with left overs
and ponder upon every conversation and then i look around
for all the imperfections around me and i tell myself:
there shall be no change.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm A Bad Bad Man
FRANK:]
I'm honored, I'm flattered, this greeting really mattered
This welcome is grand but I'm really concerned
I like your attention, but this I have to mention
You're playing with fire and you're apt to get burned
There's a girl in Tennessee
Who's sorry she met up with me
Can't go back to Tennessee
I'm a bad, bad man
There's a girl in Omaha
But I ran faster than her pa
Can't go back to Omaha
I'm a bad, bad man
There's a girl in Wyoming and they're combing Wyoming
To find the man in white who was out with her that night
There's a girl in Arkansas
The sheriff is her brother-in-law
Can't go back to Arkansas
I'm a bad, bad man
[GIRLS:]
You're making too much fuss
For we don't give a tinker's cuss
We've been out, yes, each of us
With a bad, bad man
We've been chasing up and down
That other show has just left town
And the one who played the clown
Was a bad, bad man
You may love us and leave us, but the parting won't grieve us
We'll turn the other cheek when the minstrels come next week
When the show folks come to call
A girl may slip but she won't fall
We'll give some but won't give all
To a bad, bad man
[FRANK:]
For years I have yearned to play towns I could return to
And "this may be it" from the way that you speak
I'm glad you're not frightened, the atmosphere has brightened
And now let's make plans for a wonderful week
Monday when my show is done
I'll teach you how to shoot a gun
You may find it lots of fun
With a bad, bad man
Tuesday there's no matinee
But I'll be in my tent all day
You can come around and play
With a bad, bad man
Send your mothers on Wednesday because Wednesday's old hens' day
But Thursday is sublime, I'll have lots of open time
Friday night will be the test
If Saturday you're still my guest
Sunday you can come and rest
With a bad, bad man
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Questions?
i am tired of questions
all of them
too familiar and all
with ready
homemade answers
canned questions
and answers
in one book
scanned for years
and you all know them
canned laughter
canned faces
canned souls
canned and caned and chained
bones
they rattle and they shake
and roll
i have no answers.
i am throwing all these questions away.
i live everyday. i look at the trees
and the forests.
i simply live. Now.
i have no more questions.
neither will i demand
any answer from you.
go, go, find yourself.
i stay here wanting to find nothing at all.
i guess, after my 48 years
there is this truth
that i find: there is nothing
nothing to find
nothing to expect
nowhere to go
it is just this and this and this.
the one that i have in my hand
the one that i keep on holding
i enclose it and keep it warm
and alive
and you do not even care
this is it: me, myself, and I
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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