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A Metaphor For A Funeral

indeed it is wonderful to entertain
that constant idea that beds are made for
sex,
but i must be deluding myself for a long time
as time
swiftly corrects me
and so shortly,
that beds in fact are made more for the resting place
of the sick and the dying,
the anxious and the depressed,
the restless people engulfing one pill to another
to get the blessings of sleep
soon it will become
another metaphor for
a funeral
and euphemism
for death.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beds Too Big Without You

Beds too big without you
Cold wind blows right thru my open door
I cant sleep with your memory
Dreaming dreams of what used to be
When she left I was cold inside
That look on my face was just pride
No regrets no love no tears
Living on my own was the least of my fears
Beds too big without you
The beds too big without you
The beds too big
Without you
Since that day when youd gone
Just had to carry on
I get thru day but late at night
Made love to my pillow but it didnt feel right
Every day, just the same
Old rules for the same old game
All I gained was heartache
All I made was one mistake
Now the beds too big without you
The beds too big without you
The beds too big
Without you

song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stand By Your Beds

m gonna keep it in the family
Gotta straighten my face
Wanna keep it in the family
Savin? my disgrace
Like a tick-a time bomb inside ame
Been to the mount, seen the other side
Money back, number one, guaranteed
Sole-satisfied
Gimme, gimme, gimme it all
Gimme, gimme, gimme it all
Everybody celebrate, stand by your beds
By your beds
Easy access, easy led, stand by your beds
By your beds
Yknow its nothin? new Im telling you
Its always been around
Its the home made milkshake
Apple pies n? lemonade
Never turned down
Gimme, gimme, gimme it all
Gimme, gimme, gimme it all
Everybody celebrate, stand by your beds
By your beds
Easy access, easy led, stand by your beds
By your beds
Gimme, gimme, gimme it alll
Gimme, gimme, gimme it all
Everybody celebrate, stand by your beds
By your beds
Easy access, easy led, stand by your beds
By your beds
(rankin, agnew, hardwell......polygram/trinitron)
Published by nazareth (dunfermline) ltd.
Copyright 1994 polydor gmbh, hamburg

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Reading a Vast Anthology

Love, death, sleeping
with somebody else's husband
or wife-this
is what poetry is
about-Eskimo, Aztec,
or even Italian
Rinascimento,
or even the high falutin Greeks
or noble Roman-O's.

O the constant turmoil
of the human species-
beds, graves, Spring with its
familiar rosebuds, the wrong beds,
the wrong graves, wars
unremembered & boundaries gained
only to be lost & lost
again
& lost roses whose lost
petals
reminded poets to carpe, carpe
diem with whoever's wife
or husband happened to
be handiest!

O Turmoil & Confusion-
you are my Muses!
O longing for a world
without death, without beds
divided by walls between houses!
All the beds float out to sea!
All the dying lovers wave
to the other dying lovers!
One of them writes on his mistress's skin as he floats.

He is the poet.
Not for this
will his life be spared.

poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm sick

I’m sick of always waiting for the breaks I never get,
I’m sick of being left behind and sleeping in my sweat,
I’m sick of making money when the ends are never met,
I’m sick of being sick of life I’m trapped inside a net,
I’m sick of having to be strong when I’m a nervous wreck,
I’m sick of working dead-end jobs that lack any respect,
I’m sick of waiting in a line where I am never next,
I’m sick of knowing that I’ll never truly be the best,
I’m sick of acting normal when I know that I’m a mess,
I’m sick of other people saying that I’m really blessed,
I’m sick of having all this pain I feel inside my chest,
I’m sick of being stressed, I’m feeling so depressed,

I’m reaching for a goal that very few are to obtain,
And no more strength is left in me because of all the pain,
I know that I have said that there is God inside the rain,
But where is God in moments when my bodies feeling drained,
And where is God in moments when a prayer won’t explain,
The fact that I was born a baby lacking half a brain,
The fact my hands and feet are tied together by these chains,
I can’t break free I need some help but all I get is blame,
I’m blamed for the mistakes I’ve made and it is such a shame,
I know that I’m a winner yet I’m losing to life’s game,
I’m losing my religion and all I do is entertain,
The other mindless people I swear this life is so mundane,

I’m always asking why,
I always say I try,
I’m looking to the sky,
Accept the pain and fly.

poem by Nathan Streango
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Case 795

Tony jones stabbed alice jones
On their first anniversary
Down in dallas, texas
In a small apartment
With nobody present
He pulled out a knife
And he stuck it to her
He left her bleeding
On the floor in the kitchen
With cake on her fingers
And her wedding ring holding
In her hand was a note
That said the wicked must suffer
And he drove off quickly
To his girlfriend's apartment
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us to pretend that
Chorus:
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on
From the courtroom stand
Tony said he was sorry
That he was sad and mixed up
And he didn't know what he was doing
That he'd always loved alice
And he begged for forgiveness
So he threw himself
On the mercy of the jury
And he told how his father
Had beat and abused him
Back in grade school
In the basement den
And that maybe prison
Was the best thing for him
And he said, "oh god, can you forgive me?" yeah
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us all to pretend that
Chorus:
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on
How many days does it take to make us weak?
And how many hours do people spend lonely?
In the heart of the heart the family lay dying
The ruin of a nation lies at our feet, yeah
Chorus:
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on
Everything's all right with the family
Everything is safe here at home
Everything's all right with the family
The beds are made but there's no sheets on

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up-Hill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1858)
Submitted by anonym
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Case 795 (The Family)

Tony Jones stabbed Alice Jones
On their first anniversary
Down in Dallas, Texas
In a small apartment
With nobody present.
He pulled out a knife
And he stuck it to her.
He left her bleeding
On the floor in the kitchen
With cake on her fingers
And her wedding ring holding.
In her hand was a note
That said the wicked must suffer
And he drove off quickly
To his girlfriend's apartment.
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us to pretend that
Everything's all right with the family.
Everything is safe here at home.
Everything's all right with the family.
The beds are made but there's no sheets on.
From the courtroom stand
Tony said he was sorry.
That he was sad and mixed up,
And he didn't know what he was doing,
That he'd always loved Alice
And he begged for forgiveness.
So he threw himself
On the mercy of the jury
And he told how his father
Had beat and abused him
Back in grade school
In the basement den,
And that maybe prison
Was the best thing for him.
And he said, "Oh God, can you forgive me?" yeah
But who really suffers in the end?
It's easy enough for us all to pretend that
Everything's all right with the family.
Everything is safe here at home.
Everything's all right with the family.
The beds are made but there's no sheets on.
How many days does it take to make us weak?
And how many hours do people spend lonely?
In the heart of the heart the family lay dying
The ruin of a nation lies at our feet, yeah.
Everything's all right with the family.
Everything is safe here at home.
Everything's all right with the family.
The beds are made but there's no sheets on.
(Repeat chorus.)

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uphill

DOES the road wind uphill all the way?
   Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
   From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
   A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
   You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
   Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
   They will not keep you waiting at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
   Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
   Yea, beds for all who come.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sick City (acoustic)

Restless people from the sick city
Burned their homes down to make the sky look pretty
What can I do I'm just a person
This is the line that we always seem to hear
You just sit
Things get worse and
Watch TV and drink your beer
Walkin' all alone
Not goin' anywhere
Walkin' all alone
Nobody seems to care
Restless as the wind
This town is killin' me
Got to put an end
To this restless misery
I'm Just one of those restless people
Can never seem to be satisfied with livin'
In the sick old sick sick sick old sick city
It may be too late for me to say goodbye
And it may be too late
To watch the sick old city die
Goin' on the road
Yeah I'm gonna try to say
Sick city so long goodbye and die

song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wonderful 99

Youve heard about the dirty dozen and the tales of the green beret
The men that sank the bismarck and the fighting c.i. a.
But if youre talkin danger then one name comes to mind
Make an unwise decision call the wonderful 99
It was way back in the nineties a dollar still was worth a dime
An international coincidence made newsweek and time
A hundred brave men or women, give or take a few
Got started on a friday night by monday they were back in school
Two kings, a pope, and the president of the denver savings and loan
Made and unwise decision, wished theyd stayed at home
A missile launching pad didnt go as planned
The wonderful 99 were called to deliver it by hand
99 brave soldiers in 99 pair of keds
Lookin for a motel 6 with 99 twin beds
A place to park a missile an watch some cable news
Maybe rent the top gun video and grimace like tom cruise
Now theres 99 yellow ribbons around the old oak tree
Most of its top secret, the rest is history
Its been a couple weeks now, how the memory fades with time
Of an unwise decision and the wonderful 99

song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beds To The Front Of Them

'Beds to the front of them,
Beds to the right of them,
Beds to the left of them,
Nobody blundered.
Beamed at by hungry souls,
Screamed at with brimming bowls,
Steamed at by army rolls,
Buttered and sundered.
With coffee not cannon plied,
Each must be satisfied,
Whether they lived or died;
All the men wondered.'

poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are pastors who won't go to people's sick beds. How can people of God turn their back on the sick, poor and hungry?

quote by James Robinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hospital - Acrostic Sonnet

Dull grey cabinets, posters on the wall,
Overalls in grubby white passing through the hall,
Stretcher beds, beige, blue, seating for a few,
The white welcome posts do duty all year through.
Awaiting diagnoses, anxious patients call,
Yet information filters slowly, at a crawl.
Patience, a virtue, tried and tested too,
Applies elastic strings to Time, judgements askew.
Through age, illness, accident, Death nets all.
Independence? – truly few retain the wherewithal.
Every day brings query, quandary adds to
New isolation, illness, tests as wills unglue.
Count all your blessings, be life fine or squall,
Each soon accounts must render, with Death’s pall.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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OH! I can't SAY that....(a revision)

I'm sick of f\%king Facebook,
sick of emails,
sick of people talking,
sick of my work radio beeping,
I'm sick of words.

I am being cluttered to death by words....
I am sick of listening to crazies on the bus,
sick of television spewing out banality.

Sick of voices, sick of billboards, sick of typing.

I am word sick.

I am sick of people
The more they let me know them the less I care.
I don't care what your baby did.
don't give a f$ck about what you ate for dinner.
I don't even f*ckin care if your grandpa died.
Sick, sick, sick, I am making myself sick
just writing this sh#t down.
Nothing anyone has to say is of any importance at all
that includes me.
I am drowning in words, and voices, and mundane ideas.

I am sick of people trying to 'set the world on fire'
But I do wish them luck....

because some men just want to see the world burn.

I'm sick of f&cking texts and even more sick of phone calls.
I am sick of adverts on the telly.

I am fed up with peoples life stories.

I don't care what you have been through,
as long as you will let me sleep with you.

And I will only sleep with you
if you promise to wear a ball gag.

poem by Brevet Wilson
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Matins

You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I'm looking for courage, for some evidence
my life will change, though
it takes forever, checking
each clump for the symbolic
leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already
the leaves turning, always the sick trees
going first, the dying turning
brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform
their curfew of music. You want to see my hands?
As empty now as at the first note.
Or was the point always
to continue without a sign?

poem by Louise Gluck
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The Sickness

he cannot imagine himself
now
swallowing from pill to pill
his stomach
becoming more like
a pharmaceutical
storage cabinet

there is a pill for his
numb arms
another pill for his
acidic stomach
more pills for him
to sleep
another pill for his
throat infection
another one for his
allergies
side effects of some
drugs that he had been
taking

this sickness into death
until one day
he refuses any pill
not that he cannot pay the bill
he is ready for
the thrill

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Decisions made to hell I go

I've made my decission.
My life I have selfslained.
My decision was made long ago.
Now I can put my plans to action.

Death will soon be mine.
Death is all thine.
I wish to die.

I have the pill ingested in my system.
I have the knife plunged into my flesh.
I will die tonight

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Read All About It

Riots on our city streets
violence behind closed door
while the rich are getting richer
all the rest are sad and poor.
Young people can't find work
the elderly left on the scrapheap
people are feeling anxious
they struggle to get some sleep.
But that's all the bad news
surely there's some good as well?
this used to be a great country
not a mixture of misery and Hell.
The papers only cover the bad stuff
this is what we all want to read
but this isn't a bad place to live
full of badness, poverty, and greed.
What about the doctors and nurses
who tend the sick in their hospital beds
or all those selfless charity workers
with only good thoughts inside their heads?
People running marathon after marathon
to help someone who is ill and in need
they do it because they're full of compassion
not motivated by lots of money or greed.
So this country isn't yet gone to the dogs
whatever the newspapers like to say
there's still lots of brightness to be found
not everything is dull, depressing, and Grey!

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Child's Even-Song

The sun is weary, for he ran
So far and fast to-day;
The birds are weary, for who sang
So many songs as they?
The bees and butterflies at last
Are tired out, for just think too
How many gardens through the day
Their little wings have fluttered through.
And so, as all tired people do,
They've gone to lay their sleepy heads
Deep deep in warm and happy beds.
The sun has shut his golden eye
And gone to sleep beneath the sky,
The birds and butterflies and bees
Have all crept into flowers and trees,
And all lie quiet, still as mice,
Till morning comes-like father's voice.

So Geoffrey, Owen, Phyllis, you
Must sleep away till morning too.
Close little eyes, down little heads,
And sleep-sleep-sleep in happy beds.

poem by Richard Le Gallienne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pictures Of Lily

I used to wake up in the morning
I used to wake up in the morning
I used to feel so bad
I used to feel so bad
I got so sick of having sleepless nights
I got so sick of having sleepless nights
I went and told my dad
I went and told my dad
He said, son now heres some little something
He said, son now heres some little something
And stuck them on my wall
And stuck them on my wall
And now my nights aint quite so lonely
And now my nights aint quite so lonely
In fact i, I dont feel bad at all
In fact i, I dont feel bad at all
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily helped me sleep at night
Pictures of lily helped me sleep at night
Pitcures of lily solved my childhood problems
Pitcures of lily solved my childhood problems
Pictures of lily helped me feel alright
Pictures of lily helped me feel alright
Pictures of lily
Pictures of lily
Lily, oh lily
Lily, oh lily
Lily, oh lily
Lily, oh lily
Pictures of lily
Pictures of lily
And then one day things werent quite so fine
And then one day things werent quite so fine
I fell in love with lily
I fell in love with lily
I asked my dad where lily I could find
I asked my dad where lily I could find
He said, son, now dont be silly
He said, son, now dont be silly
shes been dead since 1929
Shes been dead since 1929
Oh, how I cried that night
Oh, how I cried that night
If only Id been born in lilys time
If only Id been born in lilys time
It would have been alright
It would have been alright
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily helped me sleep at night
Pictures of lily helped me sleep at night
For me and lily are together in my dreams
For me and lily are together in my dreams
And I ask you, hey mister, have you ever seen
And I ask you, hey mister, have you ever seen
pictures of lily?
Pictures of lily?

song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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