A Protest Poem...
a poem is a feeling
fragile, transitory, it does not
say anything
at all,
do no look for substance
it is not meat
it is a table napkin
i wipe my mouth and throw
it away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
438
To Choose Between A
Hot Breakfast Ready On The Table
And Finishing Another Poem
I Choose The Breakfast
Together With My Wife
This Poem Can Be Suspended
In Time
And Become Another Unfinished
Act Of Creation
By A Man Wanting To Fill This
World With Poems
After A While
When I Have My Fill And When
I Make Some Nice Conversations With My Wife
And My Dog Beside The Table
Looking At Me
For A Piece Of Fried Pork
When The Sipping Of Coffee Is Over
When I Finally Wipe My
Chin With The Sky Blue Napkin
When I Consider
Eating As Finally Over
As Promised
I Will Come Back Again
And Finish This Poem
And There Is Something
Nice In This
Act Of Creation
You Feel It
It Is Warm Like The Hand Of
A Beautiful Woman
It Is As Hot As Ever
Like This Wanton Desire
Lovely,
As Lovely As You Love Each Letter
Of The Word
Of Your Poetry
I Am Feeling It In The Bone
Of My Soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breakfast Is Ready
(7: 45 in the morning)
to choose between a
hot breakfast ready on the table
and finishing another poem
i choose the breakfast
together with my wife
this poem can be suspended
in time
and become another unfinished
act of creation
by a man wanting to fill this
world with poems
after a while
when i have my fill and when
i make some nice conversations with my wife
and my dog beside the table
looking at me
for a piece of fried pork
when the sipping of coffee is over
when i finally wipe my
chin with the sky blue napkin
when i consider
eating as finally over
as promised
i will come back again
and finish this poem
and there is something
nice in this
act of creation
you feel it
it is warm like the hand of
a beautiful woman
it is as hot as ever
like this wanton desire
lovely,
as lovely as you love each letter
of the word
of your poetry
i am feeling it in the bone
of my soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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134
i will try to write a poem like Li Po
i will write the poem like Li Po
a poem that does not need an axe
to break a coconut to eat the meat
it will just need your soft hands
to cut half the water apple *
and so easily you will hand it to your mouth
to quench your thirst & savor its watery flavor
the seeds are not even necessary
to be kept
you simply throw them away
for the next season of summer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jeremy Engle
Jeremy Engle
Lives in a tangled
Rent controlled apartment
With his communist family
There are books all around them
The dining room table is lacquered
With news clippings
Yellowing badly
They argue at dinner
His brother's friends drop by
To throw a line in or two
About Tolstoy
They all play guitar
And they're all very far away
In their own minds
From the upper west side
Of manhattan
I never got past his
Googly eyes
That looked at me sadly
In mocking surprise
The way a lord looks at his placemat
Or a stain on his tie
It never happened for me
And Jeremy Engle though
Wanted to step through that portal
And try on that other dimension
Of high high browism
Jeremy's hair and brow
Grow very high
And no not I
I'm more of a napkin
Not blessed with the vision
Beyond how I'm matching
The china and wine
Now there are the Engles
Skewering men
And chewing through
Six pounds of venison
I bet they they shot up
In upstate New York
At their uncle's
Jeremy needs me
To wipe off his eye
Some gelatinous thingy
That his brother's rebuttaling
Mouthful let fly
Sometimes all you need is a napkin
Sometimes all you need is a napkin
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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i will try to write a poem like Li Po
i will write the poem like Li Po
a poem that does not need an axe
to break a coconut to eat the meat
it will just need your soft hands
to cut half the water apple *
and so easily you will hand it to your mouth
to quench your thirst & savor its watery flavor
the seeds are not even necessary
to be kept
you simply throw them away
for the next season of summer.
* tambis
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing is more pleasant than to see a pretty woman, her napkin well placed under her arms, one of her hands on the table, while the other carries to her mouth, the choice piece so elegantly carved.
quote by Jean Anthelme Brillat Savarin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How the poem is treated by you
My instruction is very simple
Take the poem and read it
Casually in your room, do not
Force yourself to understand it
Just read it and tell me what
You feel,
Be kind to the poem
Like inviting it for tea
With just the two of you
As you sip
Let the poem drift like
A cloud and let it take
Its shape
Be compassionate to the poem
Let is cry for itself
If it settles for tears
And all you can do is
Just wipe its face
With your handkerchief
But you are cruel and so
Indifferent, you slap the
Poem with your right hand
And tell it straight
That you do not like it
That way it has successfully
Puzzled you
Then you leave the poem in
The rest room
It feels that it is a tissue
Paper fit for something
So ordinary waiting for
What others usually do
Wipe their anus after
A poo.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Too, Like An Unfinished Poem
an unfinished poem sounds like
an incomplete sentence
sometimes just a predicate without a subject
like love unrequited
a verb without a noun
an adjective so misplaced that
it calls for an adverb
it is more like a mouth
that opens but says only some syllables
though you as the reader
understands what the poet
wants to stress and mean and accentuate
for some parts of the poem are meant
not to be finished sometimes
in fact, they are meant to be concealed
and well covered like a bikini
to your.........or the prohibited love
you still keep in your........
or the memories that hurt you and are meant
to be unsaid.......you still want her not to
know..........
i, too, like an unfinished poem
like the sketch of your secret love many, many years ago,
once when you were young
the face is unfinished, you have not drawn the eyes
of that love so profuse that no canvass could ever contain
you still like this love unfinished, who knows
the ripe time comes and both of you
will finish
the unfinished love poem soon......
or some poems cannot ever be finished
because the words to complete them still
do not exist
or they are simply missing,
too lost like you,
they are not there yet to a feeling so new
so fragile and so indescribable.....
so rare........
and i, really, like it that way the poem
unfinishes itself
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mouth!
Everything that goes mouth is sensual!
the toffee run up and down,
the noise to blow up a tasty gum,
the mouth open in surprise!
Oh! ! ! !
Everything in your mouth is sensual!
the cleaning of its corners with the napkin,
the clicking of his tongue before you saying yes,
the soft against your lips when they meet one another!
Ah! ! ! !
Everything in ours mouth is sensual!
the dropp we exchanged wet through
Ours lips moving slightly,
Our kisses!
Hummm!
Everything in ours bodies is sensual!
what gonna in yours mouth!
What remains in it and
All that comes an goes!
Ui! ! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kaleidoscope and Harpsichord
As I've told my wife too many times,
the meaning of any poem hides
in the marriage of cadence and sound.
Vowels on a carousel,
consonants on a calliope,
whistles and bells,
we need them all
tickling our ears.
Otherwise, the lines
are gristle and fat, no meat.
Is it any wonder, then,
my wife has a problem
with any poem I give her to read
for a second opinion, especially
when the poem has no message
and I'm simply trying to hear
what I'm saying and don't care
if I understand it.
The other night in bed
I gave her another poem to read
and afterward she said this poem
was no different than the others.
She had hoped I'd improve.
'After all, ' she said,
'you've been writing for years
but reading a poem like this is
like looking through a kaleidoscope
while listening to a harpsichord.'
Point well taken,
point well said.
But then I asked her
what should a man do
if he has careened for years
through the caves of his mind
spelunking for the right
line for a poem
only to hear his wife say
after reading one of his poems
that it was like
'looking through a kaleidoscope
while listening to a harpsichord.'
What should he do-quit?
'Not a chance, '
she said this morning,
enthroned at the kitchen table,
as regal as ever in her fluttery gown
and buttering her English muffin
with long, languorous strokes
Van Gogh would envy.
'He should write even more,
all day and all night, if need be.
After all, ' she said, 'my line
about the kaleidoscope and harpsichord
still needs a poem of its own.
It's all meat, no gristle, no fat.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Socrates seems to be the philosophical napkin with which the ensuing cultural thinkers of history wipe their mouths of pedantic ooze.
Red Rose and Chardonnay
A dinner with chardonnay
Plates of love whilst piano play
A love song of long ago.
She sat by the table
A hands folded like napkin in array
And red roses on the table
Of two love birds
Today are their anniversary.
She excused herself
As the waiter arranged the table.
Today is their day
But her lover has another.
She waited for an hour
For he promised to surrender
The love he has for her.
She begged him not to part
But…he’s not here.
Nor his shadow emerged
Red rose and chardonnay
are now abandoned- by the table.
She exits in the moonless sky.
poem by Tess Rockenstire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Delicious Enough To Eat
There is a limitation about you,
That has to be cleared.
It has to be removed from you...
Since that is not how you appear.
You appear to be someone,
I was suppose to hold once close.
In conversation as well as touch.
Something I want very much!
You appear to be someone...
Loving I could love lovingly.
Someone who could possibly be
That someone I've been longing for!
And that's a 'possibility'
You 'are' that one I've been saving 'this love for...
All my life!
You appear to be someone,
I could live a life with
In devotion!
You appear to be someone,
I could live a life with
In a 'blissling' happiness!
You appear to be someone,
I could live a life with
Being who I am...
And you letting us be who we are.
Together!
If not always locked in passion,
Embracing to ignite heat!
You appear to be someone,
I could live a life with!
Someone delicious
Enough
To eat!
'Honey...?
Why are you looking at me like that?
Here...
Wipe your mouth with this napkin! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Throw It All Away
Maybe i don't wanna know the reason why
But lately you don't talk to me
Darling i can't see me in your eyes
I hold you near but you're so far away
And it's losing you i can't believe
To watch you leave and let this feeling die
You alone are the living thing that keeps me alive
And tomorrow if i'm here without your love
You know i can't survive
Only my love can raise you high above it all
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
(break)
We can take the darkness and make if full of light
But let your love flow back to me
How can you leave and let this feeling die
This happy room will be a lonely place when you are gone
And i won't even have your shoulders for the crying on
No other women's love could be as true , i'm begging you
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
We changed the world we made it ours to hold
But dreams are made for those who really try
This losing you is real
But i still feel you here inside
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
(repeat last verse at least twice more and fade out)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Our Love) Don't Throw It All Away
Maybe I don't wanna know the reason why
But lately you don't talk to me
Darling I can't see me in your eyes
I hold you near but you're so far away
And it's losing you I can't believe
To watch you leave and let this feeling die
You alone are the living thing that keeps me alive
And tomorrow if I'm here without your love
You know I can't survive
Only my love can raise you high above it all
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
(break)
We can take the darkness and make if full of light
But let your love flow back to me
How can you leave and let this feeling die
This happy room will be a lonely place when you are gone
And I won't even have your shoulders for the crying on
No other women's love could be as true , I'm begging you
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
We changed the world we made it ours to hold
But dreams are made for those who really try
This losing you is real
But I still feel you here inside
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love , our love
Don't throw it all away , our love
(repeat last verse at least twice more and fade out
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Still-life
Through the open French window the warm sun
Lights up the polished breakfast-table, laid
Round a bowl of crimson roses, for one -
A service of Worcester porcelain, arrayed
Near it a melon, peaches, figs, small hot
Rolls in a napkin, fairy rack of toast,
Butter in ice, high silver coffee-pot,
And, heaped on a salver, the morning's post.
She comes over the lawn, the young heiress,
From her early walk in her garden-wood,
Feeling that life's a table set to bless
Her delicate desires with all that's good.
That even the unopened future lies
Like a love-letter, full of sweet surprise.
poem by Elizabeth Daryush
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Temporary Poem Of My Time
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.
Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.
Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.
Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav
poem by Yehuda Amichai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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