A Narrative Of The War
The soldiers are nearly all young men,
and far more Filipino than is generally supposed -
I should say nine-tenths are native-born.
Among the arrivals from Luzon
I find a large proportion of tagalogs and bicolanos
men. As usual, there are all sorts of wounds.
Some of the men fearfully burnt
from the explosions.
One ward has a long row of officers, some with ugly hurts.
Yesterday was perhaps worse than usual.
Amputations are going on -
the attendants are dressing wounds.
As you pass by,
you must be on your guard
where you look.
I saw the other day a gentleman,
a visitor apparently from curiosity,
in one of the wards,
stop and turn a moment
to look at an awful wound
they were probing.
He turn'd pale, and in a moment more
he had fainted away
and fallen
on the floor.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
This Morn
this was written in my own website
at the beginning
of January 2007
This Morn
I greet this day as usual always the same issue
as usual
but the next moment my tears fill the floor as morn goes by everyday like before
I greet this day as yesterday the day before today and the day before yesterday and the day after yesterday two days from now like I used to greet Him in my songs of praise I feel at ease after this release, yesterday like today and the many many days after tomorrow, feeling no sorrow when I greet Thee, my Lord of Heaven.
© copyright Sat Aug 13 - 2011 - All Rights Reserved
poem by Sylvia Frances Chan
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A Dream
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;
I went to the window to see the sight;
All the Dead that ever I knew
Going one by one and two by two.
On they pass'd, and on they pass'd;
Townsfellows all, from first to last;
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates, marching as when they play'd
At soldiers once - but now more staid;
Those were the strangest sight to me
Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea.
Straight and handsome folk, bent and weak, too;
Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;
Some but a day in their churchyard bed;
Some that I had not known were dead.
A long, long crowd - where each seem'd lonely,
Yet of them all there was one, one only,
Raised a head or look'd my way;
She linger'd a moment - she might not stay.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah! Mother dear! might I only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men;
Many long-forgot, but remembered then,
And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears a moment after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
That eve morning, day by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.
poem by William Allingham
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The usual picture of Socrates is of an ugly little plebeian who inspired a handsome young nobleman to write long dialogues on large topics.
quote by Richard Rorty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Freedom Of The Soul
Am I not supposed to be singing emancipation?
Am I not supposed to be dancing in elation?
Am I not supposed to be jumping in rejuvenation?
How can I sing when my heart is bleeding?
It is not the wounds of yesterday
It is not the wounds of the past
It is the wounds of today
My heart is bleeding
As they sing free at last
As they jump in emancipation
As they sigh a sigh of relief
But my heart is bleeding
For they sing freedom when they are not free
How is freedom freedom if your soul is in bounds?
How is freedom freedom if your spirit is still in chains?
The freedom of the soul is greater than the freedom of the flesh
We have not been freed from the oppression of sin
The inward oppression is worse than the outward oppression
We are oppressed by sin and depressed by its consequences
Unless a man repents from sin he shall remain inbounds!
poem by Philani Zincume
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A World Revolving Around Your Hands.....
one day
a moment arrives
sounding like a
total stranger
it is ready with
a back pack
for you
that moment tells you
this is not your world
look at the bruises in
your face
the wounds on your feet
that do not heal
the falling hair
stinking odor of the
fluids from your ear
then it will tell you
what to do
that there is a process
of release
which will be painful
but only for a while
you ask
what is the payment?
at whose expense?
the consequences and risks
that moment turns its face
away
humiliated about your
questions
it is bizarre
but many have succumbed
and fallen
to the trap of the moment
you said at the last moment
thank you
it is uncertain
and it is not worth it
when that moment leaves
you affirm a world
it is still revolving around
your hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Get Up
Here's to the morning
Think that I'm bored and crazy
Yes I have been to get up when I give in
I need my second wind and I just cant take it anymore
I just cant take it when your lying on the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored (ya)
Come entertain ya
So stupid its contagious
Mess that I've been
I get up when you get in
It makes more sense to win
I just cant fake it anymore
I just cant it and I heard it all before
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored
Ohh dont be so dramatic
I know you almost had it
Wohhh
I tried to show you but you wont go down to her
(Get up, get up, get up, now)
Get up off the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored (ya)
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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in their own eyes (for Tikoy)
on that precise moment
you open your heart, your stomach
your head,
and then you spread everything
before them
on the breakfast table
the usual broken heart
with perforations
the rotten intestines
the rusty thoughts
some cuts on your hands
wounds of the spirit
and then you challenged
each one' 'Now, judge me! '
and they all left
slowly one by one
toward the door
all of them
i know
has remembered
the old story
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Peace in War?
So you sharpen your knives
You also oil your guns
What is that grenade for?
I see, you have a jungle jacket,
How smart?
Tell me, would you heal the wounds?
The wounds,
That gape and stare at you,
The wounds that wouldn't let
A nap over your eyes.
Wounds that would hollow your heart,
Dripping bloody soiled hands
That would make your seeds
Sprout with fright to the wound?
Tell me,
Was it for peace?
Now agape. Why?
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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0026 The other poetry
It could be tomorrow.
Or the day after.
The important thing will be
that you’ll know when it happens that
it’s what you’ve been waiting for
perhaps all your life
you’ll go out of the door as usual
at the usual time
but instead of turning right
you’ll turn left
just that
and then it will unfold
like someone else’s life
and you’ll talk to different people,
listen differently
see differently
and then find yourself writing
in a quite different way
perhaps even in a strange language
about emotions you never had before
deep down, it’s always been whispering
no singing, in your ear
like when you were a child
and there they were behind you but
you could never turn round quick enough
to catch them. The other poetry
you never wrote but you know it’s there
maybe waiting for you
maybe waiting for someone else
but there. So close.
Maybe one day.
Or the day after.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Into Another Reality
after the usual lengthy
lecture in the university
the usual hour after
something like 8: 45
on such usual evenings
i take the usual drive
from the city to my
urban homesomething like
fifteen kilometers alone
but this
time it will be different
i'll have the loud sounds
of some Queen songs on the DVD
and I'll join singing with them like
I'm going slightly mad
I was born to love you &
I wanna break free
and to All Fat Bottomed Girls
this is your Good Old-fashioned Lover Boy
Let's Get Down Make Love
Headlong
Heaven to Everyone
In the Lap of the Gods...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fighting With Usual Ones
Usual cravings, as usual,
Come to me in plural.
For not enough defense,
For over offensive bad,
Shall I lose this pretty math?
Nothing I hate more than usual ones.
Like November that needs only December
To end one year,
Shall I give up my intense desire?
Together with usual theory,
To get the pass-mark solitary,
Should I sit this exam blowzy?
If there were a right map of life,
I would avoid those with unusual might.
But now, by riding a horse neither male nor female,
Shall I keep acting as a character stray?
I don't wanna be a king in usual custom paragon.
I don't wanna ascend already used throne.
If your heart is not new,
If your love is blue,
You will fail my interview.
Let my loner life live along
Instead of being in usual crowd.
My heart wishes unusual heartbeat sound.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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25th of June, dawn
a dream is so beautiful
at dawn,
it comes wounding me
but it is alright
it is the most usual thing that happens
in my life
and so here i am again
licking my wounds
nurturing it
so that i may heal
again and again
deep within i do not wish this wound
to heal
somehow it is this orifice
that creates
an opening to my life
day to day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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TV Radio
You incomplete me
You tune me into
Whitewash
Spoon fed
Brain dead
Sloth
I'd watch the paint dry before giving in
Black out
Stupor
Inferior
Insignifigant
False stars above keep us sedated
Satellite
Astronaut
Spaceship
The Government
I'm overdosing on reality
Don't stop the feed
No don't touch the feed
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
I don't wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
Eliminate me you turn me into
Lifeless
Cliche'
Thoughtless
Unbelievable
So bored with my life
Entertained me with normal
Usual
Average
It's so typical
Artists traded in for the talentless
Spoiled kid
Wife swap
Tycoon
The has-beens
So entertaining it makes me sick
Don't stop the feed
Don't
No don't touch the feed
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
I'm so uninterested
So unamused
Dissapointed in yourself
To be so consumed
I'm so uninterested
So unamused
Dissapointed in yourself
To be so consumed
Buy nothing
Nothing
Buy nothing
Nothing
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
I don't wanna wanna be
Wanna wanna be
I don't want to be here
Wanna wanna be here so let's go
Turn off the radio
Turn off the TV
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Words Can Wound
Wounds of the flesh and of skin do occur;
Bruises and lacerations can recur;
By intervention or on own, they heal;
Wounds of the human heart are tough to deal.
But wounds that words may produce in one’s mind,
Cannot heal early, we always do find;
The boneless tongue is the reason behind;
Good or bad words costs alike and they bind.
’Tis wise always avoiding the bad word,
That can wound much more than the sharpest sword,
To cause non-healing wounds in any man;
Trouble among nations and men, they fan.
So, hesitate to use the wounding word,
To use the soothing word, men can afford.
poem by John Celes
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Hide Me In Your Wounds
Hide Me In Your Wounds
By your wounds, I am healed
Healed in running away from internal strife
In giving up when there is still something to give
Your precious wounds gave me the love
When I wanted to give love
And the beauty and receiving grace instead of misfortune
By your wounds, I am healed
I am a survivor, a winner
I sing a new song in my heart
I witness the breaking of a new dawn each day
By your wounds I am healed
I believe that any storms in my life shall pass
And live my life one day at a time
By your wounds, I am yours
To teach, to guide, to revive and to forgive
I have forgiven myself, as I have forgiven others who caused me pain
Thank you Jesus..for those wounds
And hide me forever…
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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As Usual
The sun was shining…
The breeze was blowing
As usual
The day was dawning
The dusk was falling…
As usual
The people were brisking
The people were frisking
As usual
You died.
My heart was grieving.
It was Durga Puja.
They were celebrating
As usual
(Dedicated to Steve Jobs. I miss him…)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Nothing's Changed...
this afternoon i was driving my car
back home. And i was thinking something
that may change my life
totally.
i wish i can tell you since you are part of the
picture. Your face is a painting of so many words.
Life with you has been tinted. The colors simply
disappear at the first sigh of the coming of my night.
sometimes, i stop the car along the shore
and there is little hut there where i can rest and sit for a moment.
as usual it is the sea that keeps on talking.
there are so many reasons, so many
why i do not have to tell you about this.
and then i drive my car back home and meet you.
another beginning
of another life, and as usual the conclusion is that
nothing must be changed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Antistar
3d
Can you heal my wounds please
Can you make it rough
And cure the pain like cortizone
And grant me indemnity (you drowned me in tennesee? )
Howll we split your chromosomes
Yeah more sweet narcosis
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
I turn a stone Ill find you there
Into afflicted light I stare
You blind me with flash bulbs
And puzzle me with syllables
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
My heads between my knees again
Got needle set to zero
And you can shoot me hurricanes
Dont spare me the details
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
Yeah more sweet narcosis
(Ill turn a stone Ill find you)
Yeah more sweet narcosis
More sweet
More sweet
I walk with ?
Force with me
Youll regret
More bloodstains
song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something To My Dear Friend (Triolet)
Let your eyes be as usual wild
It only reflects honesty
Do not turn your voice more mild
Let your eyes be as usual wild
It just proves you are still a child
Once in a while little bit naughty
Let your eyes be as usual wild
It only reflects honesty
poem by Jyoti Sunit Chaudhary
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Straight Into The Simile
Becoming bologna, this is not my god:
This is just another
Comic book left
Outside to understand the elements of
The usual bird:
There she is, cleaning herself through
The usual elements
Of her available estuaries:
There she is just doing as she’s told.
Whilst the average Christmas trees
Are sold and sold.
And sold:
Oh, old bold wound; oh, old gold wound:
Same natural element happenstance
Through the preternatural heavens:
Just as same old grave song,
As seems to be happening through same
Old natural grave song:
Presupposing through the same old
Elements of the rose:
Seems to be grossing this way:
Seems to be crossing anyway, as anyway,
I suppose: just as the laments,
I supposed, anyway, held between the teeth of
Anyway- elements, anyway,
Straight into the smile that happened to have
Held the rose.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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