A Simple World
one poem
read by one person
one day
one enlightenment
one moment
one solemn day
of the funeral
one death
one spectator
one tear
and then the most exciting part:
forgetting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spectator
On a Sunday
at nine
he sits by the window
watching
people passing by
bringing their burdens
he is not part
of this
sacrifice
he is the spectator
watching the day pass by
till the next level of
his lazy enlightenment
the sun fades away
and now the moon
he sits by the window
imagining
the night away
it will be the same on
another day of his life
this spectator
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Same
On a Sunday
at nine
he sits by the window
watching
people passing by
bringing their burdens
he is not part
of this
sacrifice
he is the spectator
watching the day pass by
till the next level of
his lazy enlightenment
the sun fades away
and now the moon
he sits by the window
imagining
the night away
it will be the same on
another day of his life
this spectator
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Forget to Write Your Funeral Plan
Michael Jackson's 'SMILE' played, as the coffin entered everyone stood tall
Mum's poem was read and felt by all
The Mourners were smiling at the photo's of Mum
As the DVD played, no one was glum
Happy pictures were played of Mum's life with a tear
To the tune of the music 'If I Lay Here'
Friends got up for the Eulogy
Wonderful Words spoken of Mum... Now free
Free to move on, to follow a new life
Happy if Dad, finds a new wife
Everyone looked like they were enjoying the moment
In a room full of love; as if Heaven sent
For Mum was so kind and by all adored
Yet sadly the Funeral Conductor looked everso bored
He looked like he had something better to do
This was just a job and he really didn't care just who...
Who had died Or who was grieving
About the life of this person or the world they were leaving
So... Make sure you write.. Your Funeral Plan
It saves pain for the family, A real helping hand
You can choose your Funeral Home, coffin, Cemetery and your music too
It will take away some pain Of losing you
Absorbing
Poem is mine
and it is me
I am absorbing
in it moment
by moment.
O poem
You are my sea
I am above the sea
You are my sky
I am above the sky
You are the bird to sing
I am above the song
and in the song
I am there moment
by moment forgetting
distortion in theme.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Went To Your Funeral
Yesterday, I went to your funeral.
You asked me to go, read a poem for you.
So I did.
I read a poem about love,
About the love people had for each other.
People seemed to like it, seemed to love you the same way.
I couldn’t figure something out though,
If they felt these things for you, why didn’t I?
I was your friend, but it didn’t seem to bother me,
That you were dead.
I’m sorry I don’t miss you,
But at least I went to your funeral.
poem by Rachel Brewer
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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
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I'm Not Like You
I sit here now,
Writing this poem.
You read it now,
No matter what’s goin.
Sometimes it’s rainy,
Sometimes it’s not.
You read this poem now,
Go do you the homework you forgot.
Life can be simple,
It can also be complicated.
Be when read this now,
Please don’t get frustrated.
Thanks for reading this,
You’re a cool person that much is true.
But to spend the time and read,
I’m probably not much like you.
When A Person Does Not Know What To Do With Himself
WHEN A PERSON DOES NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HIMSELF
When a person does not know what to do with himself
When a person feels empty
When a person feels everything he had done and everything he can do do is meaningless
When a person is bored
When a person does not know what to do with himself
And wonders why he is on this earth
And how he will endure more of it
When a person does not know what to do with himself
He must do any little thing he can do
To get himself going-
He must wash the dishes or clean the house or take something to eat or take a small walk or read a page
Or do any one of a million or more other small things to get himself going
And once he is going he must somehow go on and on and from this to something else
So that at some point somewhere along the way somehow
He is doing something
Perhaps not that great
But doing something
And in doing something
Perhaps forgetting about himself
A bit
Perhaps.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Do Not Read! ! !
Don't read this poem!
Turn back while you have the chance
Or you will regret it
This poem is a poem of darkness
This poem is a devourer of souls
It will destroy you
Consume you
Absorb you into its black depths
I tried to warn you
I told you not to read it
Why are you still reading?
If I had named it 'READ THIS POEM! ! ! '
Would you have even bothered?
This poem is pulling you in
It has your feet
It's eating you
It's shattering your soul
It's never going to let you go
It's murdering you
This poem is a murderer
It is a criminal, it is evil
It is unnameable, unbreakable, imperfect
This poem has you
It's too late for you now
There's no escape for you now
Too bad
This poem has you
This poem's devoured you
Yummm, good
This poem is satisfied now
You should have listened to me
But you didn't
And now the poem's taken you
You're dead.
When You Read This Poem
when you read this poem
silently like a prayer written
on the wall
of an ancient structure
and then when you pause
upon a word and begin
to ponder
like ' what is this poem really
trying to say? '
or ' does this poem have in some
way something to inform me
or touch me
or simply waste my time? '
rest assured this poem has
made you phrase some questions
not about you
or about me alone but
whether you believe it or not
this poem has become
a bridge between us
taking the shape
of a rainbow between two islands
and in a moment before you
begin to figure it out
or even know it
it is gone like a sigh passing you by
without any significance
and not worth remembering
but once
after you have read till the end
once there was this poem
and it seems to have no meaning at all
except a task
a journey that you have taken
arriving at nowhere
and giving you the essence of nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem To Be Heard
A poem to be held
a poem to be fed, with words stronger than the ancient
spirits.
Ti's a poem to be read by all.
A poem that beats the heat of temptation away.
It's power in every single word attracts the moonlight.
A poem, a light in the dark wilderness.
A poem that is just needed and leaves the audience
speechless.
A poem that comforts a sad soul.
Read to me a poem
when I'm cold.
Read it to me till I'm old.
When I'm heart broken, a poem, a love, I'd want.
A poem, a victory through lives endless battle.
A poem an epistle to mine heart, and every written word
in it is heard.
A poem, about royalty, about Kings and Queens
and how they live in luxury.
A poem, a song about sweet heavens.
Read me a poem and slow my heart beat down.
A poem with a tasty flavor, I'd want to hear.
Read me a poem that explains how Nelson Mandela
conquered his fears.
A poem that can describe how Martin Luther Kings
felt when he fought for freedom.
I long to hear it,
Therefor read me a poem,
to be heard.
poem by Marlene Rashidi
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this POEM assures YOU that....
this POEM is not
a product of a philosophical quibbling
not a part of guidance
and counseling like what sometimes
nagging mothers do
not a scolding like what fathers do
to their sons who are feeling lost
and unwanted
this poem shall not ask you to confess
your sins
like what religions do
calling for this and that
for absolution and deliverance
or purification
neither will this poem be a doctor
giving you the cure
for whatever sickness you have
this poem when you read it
till the last simply assures you
that you are not alone
when you read even if you do not try to understand
there is this comfort
that in our loneliness we are never alone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Will The Poem Written Today/ Read Well Tomorrow?
WILL THE POEM WRITTEN TODAY/ READ WELL TOMORROW?
Will the poem written today
Read well tomorrow?
Will what seems so right now
Last beyond the time of its being said?
Or am I a poet of the present moment only
Who in the saying believes in what is said
And who fails in the long – term reflection?
What will remain of all my ‘presents’
And all those times of writing
And feeling it is true?
Years from now
Long after I will be able to read any poem
Will these lines mean anything
To anyone?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing
THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM
The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.
The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.
The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .
But what about everything else I have not done?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Facing Death In The Reflection Of Her Child’s Tear
Facing death in the reflection of her child’s tear
A weeping mother from some other world
Is seen to be holding on to a hope in fear
Keeping warm the memory of love beside the fireplace curled.
Late at night she prays, un-able to sleep,
Keeping watch until the day that no more is
Laughter new and moving in vibration
But an echo of fond memories fading.
She blankets the child in her flesh
Kissing him and breathing afresh new love.
Smothering with smiles and affection
The reflection of death within his eyes.
Slipping once more into the shadows
From which he came
His mother weeping, still unsleeping
Awaits reflections of death within her pain
She is seeking for that which absorbs her,
She is seeking that which will engulf her soul in solitude
Leaving her mourning, lamenting death in timeless rhythm
Forgetting the harmony of which we are part
Forgetting the eternity that exists
When lovers spend more than a moment apart.
She forgets that there is to be no regret upon this plain.
What sickness is it of heart and of soul that allows
Salvation to be preached without the kiss of ecstasy.
What horror is this to believe our world so fruitful
So beautiful is fallen as if it were inherently evil.
As if by adorning coats of skin we were dancing with the devil.
poem by David Lacey
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem
i like to read your poem
and i like to say it is a poem
there is a difference
of course
between the two statements
i like to read
it is your poem but i may
after reading
that
saying that i am honest though
and can distinguish a poem
from one that is not a poem
that your poem is one that i only
like to read
and may
say that it is not your poem
but it is yours you are sure of that
but what i am saying is that
i am reading your poem
but i feel that it is not
a poem after all
i can say one when i read one
so i just say i like reading your poem
which could not really be a poem
not even prose
i just like it
but it is not anything about what
i feel i like it to be
a poem or prose
i am reading it, it isn't
like this one for instance
you know that
now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Invitation
You are invited cordially
To read my poem
Read and reread again
And again and again
With undiminish interest.
I invite you to read my poem
And search out yourself
Where you are missing
And find you out in it
You please read my poem
And see in it how you
Manage yourself to stay
And how you are making
Preparation to go finally.
I invite you to read my poem
And I invite you cordially.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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When A Person Does Not Know What
When a person does not know what to do with himself
When a person feels empty
When a person feels everything he had done and everything he can do do is meaningless
When a person is bored
When a person does not know what to do with himself
And wonders why he is on this earth
And how he will endure more of it
When a person does not know what to do with himself
He must do any little thing he can do
To get himself going-
He must wash the dishes or clean the house or take something to eat or take a small walk or read a page
Or do any one of a million or more other small things to get himself going
And once he is going he must somehow go on and on and from this to something else
So that at some point somewhere along the way somehow
He is doing something
Perhaps not that great
But doing something
And in doing something
Perhaps forgetting about himself
A bit
Perhaps.
WHAT DO I KNOW? \AND WHO AM I?
What do I know?
And who am I?
The real questions
I cannot answer
They are beyond me.
And I don't think
I have anything to give
Even in beginning to answer them.
Just another human being
Who has come this way
And soon will be gone
Without ever having answered
The real questions.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Scanning
Scan the societyby the power of poem
Let the rare disease of humanity go.
One or two line of live poem is enough
And it save the human race from disorders.
Please read read read and read the poem
Be a perfect man of highest order.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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