En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Story About Guilt and Pity...

there are two kinds of people in this world. You know it. The swindler and the swindled. The one who felt swindled and the one who never admits that he swindled.They are brothers.

a man of high rank, feeling guilty about his rise to the skies, the lonely eagle
that eats monkeys for lunch and dinner and shares it to no one.

descends to the plains
walk on the grass and degrades
its being to be with
the simplest creature, the worm and the snail,

thinking that these two deserve
to be raised from their
lowly, damp, slow
and dark state,

only to be infected by the
virus of the worm
the bacteria of the snail

and these lowly creatures
claim the triumph over the eagle
who in its fancy to be
belittled
finds his ultimate death...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Manila

i told her
there are only two kinds of people
in manila: the swindler and the swindled

i warned her

last night she cried
she occupied the seat of the latter

i told her
there is nothing to worry

the swindled can still recover
after a fall

she learned the hard way
that night she could not sleep

i told her
it is normal for one to be swindled

of which i chided her
if she wants to take revenge

swindle another one
it makes thing even.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Won't Be Long...

i was educated so well
in an expensive and
exclusive university for
the rich,

my training is not to be
swindled
perhaps with my skill
i am more
designed to defraud
other people who dwell
in their
sacred ignorance

but i will not be doing
that
i am excited how to feel
being swindled
by the lesser of my kind

i pretend i am one of those
ignoramuses
and i allow myself to be defrauded
swindled
by those i have long wanted
to serve

it is not a nice feeling
but i must experience it to feel
how is it to be
one of those
who are struggling to live
who are shying away from the pains
inflicted by
society

i like to feel what Jesus
felt when he was crucified
when he was spit upon
when he was humiliated and
scorned

i just want to be a christian.

Do not worry, It won't be long.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fun Together

slow but sure
but if i fall
i rise again
and begin
anew
slow but sure
like a snail
like a worm
inching my way
to my
destination
i am not in hurry
side by side
with another worm
another snail
oh we're just
having fun
together

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A thief of billion

It was alleged
That I swindled a billion.
The fact is that
I swindled only a million.
Because I denied
The allegation as a whole
I have been branded
As a thief of a billion.
15.02.2011

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Allies

August 14th, 1914

Into the brazen, burnished sky, the cry hurls itself. The zigzagging cry
of hoarse throats, it floats against the hard winds, and binds the head
of the serpent to its tail, the long snail-slow serpent of marching men.
Men weighed down with rifles and knapsacks, and parching with war.
The cry jars and splits against the brazen, burnished sky.

This is the war of wars, and the cause? Has this writhing worm of men
a cause?

Crackling against the polished sky is an eagle with a sword. The eagle is red
and its head is flame.

In the shoulder of the worm is a teacher.

His tongue laps the war-sucked air in drought, but he yells defiance
at the red-eyed eagle, and in his ears are the bells of new philosophies,
and their tinkling drowns the sputter of the burning sword. He shrieks,
'God damn you! When you are broken, the word will strike out new shoots.'

His boots are tight, the sun is hot, and he may be shot, but he is in
the shoulder of the worm.

A dust speck in the worm's belly is a poet.

He laughs at the flaring eagle and makes a long nose with his fingers.
He will fight for smooth, white sheets of paper, and uncurdled ink.
The sputtering sword cannot make him blink, and his thoughts are
wet and rippling. They cool his heart.

He will tear the eagle out of the sky and give the earth tranquillity,
and loveliness printed on white paper.

The eye of the serpent is an owner of mills.

He looks at the glaring sword which has snapped his machinery
and struck away his men.

But it will all come again, when the sword is broken to a million dying stars,
and there are no more wars.

Bankers, butchers, shop-keepers, painters, farmers - men, sway and sweat.
They will fight for the earth, for the increase of the slow, sure roots
of peace, for the release of hidden forces. They jibe at the eagle
and his scorching sword.

One! Two! - One! Two! - clump the heavy boots. The cry hurtles
against the sky.

Each man pulls his belt a little tighter, and shifts his gun
to make it lighter. Each man thinks of a woman, and slaps out a curse
at the eagle. The sword jumps in the hot sky, and the worm crawls on
to the battle, stubbornly.

This is the war of wars, from eye to tail the serpent has one cause:
PEACE!

poem by Amy Lowell
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A Snail Goes To Heaven (A One-Act Tragicomedy)

Bare stage. A square neon sign on extreme right which reads: “This way to Heaven”.
Prolonged silence. Enter Snail, moving very slowly throughout the play.

Snail:
I’m a dead snail.
I’m going to Heaven.

I’ve lived for 15 years.
That’s a ripe old age.
I’ve been blessed.
Had a marvellous sex life, you know.
Well, if you know snails
we attract a mate with our slime.
Oh, slime turns me on, baby.

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

Well, maybe I should focus on holy thoughts.
Purity...refined thoughts...you know...
Snail God does not like sex.
Copulation is not exactly what
Snail God meant when Snail God declared:
'Go forth and slime the world;
be ye together...'
Snail God demands purity
so let me be so...
after all, I’m going to Heaven...
a dead snail and moving on to Heaven...

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

Had a precarious life,
you know,
all these 15 years...
A farmer saw me in the grass.
I heard him curse
and he raised his foot to crush me.
Well, unfortunately for him
he stepped on a snake
and the last I heard of the man
was an expletive
and the last I heard of the snake was a hiss.
Yes, I’ve had a long life
a risky life - but it’s all worth it
for an eternal life in Heaven
is my reward

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

(Enter Frog, jumping. Snail looks at Frog in amazement. And Frog stops and looks at Snail in amazement.)

Frog: What are you doing?

Snail: That’s what I was about to ask of you.

Frog: I’m a dead Frog and I’m jumping on my way to Heaven.

Snail: I’m a dead Snail and I’m moving on to Heaven.

Frog: This is ridiculous.

Snail: Indeed. It is ridiculous.
A Frog going to Heaven?
No, for it is truly declared by Snail God:
'None but Snails shall enter Heaven.'

Frog: And in the words of the Frog God:
'I shall confound all other creatures.
Only Frogs shall enter Heaven.'
And so it has come to pass
Snails think they can go to Heaven.
Unless the Frog God
in Its Infinite Wisdom
has arranged for a Dish of Snails
when all Pure Frogs are at Its side in Paradise.
Well, Snail...you’re toast when I see you in Heaven.

(Frog jumps on to near stage right, screaming: “Heaven - here I come! ” and then disappears.)

(Long silence.)

Snail (facing audience) : Well, what next? - The snake to Heaven?
The Farmer to Heaven? His dog to Paradise?
Donkeys to Heaven?

(Snail moves on, in its slow way, to nothing but Heaven...)

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Code: The Credit Card

THERE ARE always and will always be present
vested, self-interests

and the 'good' may pretend to have done the Good
for goodness' sake

what hypocrites do we have here?

the good man that you know who keeps on booking your place ticket
brags that he is doing but charity to you
sham! he is interested in the points that he earns in his credit card

but no one minds,
they're too dumb to listen
too selfish too to even know that there is something wrong

their concern is only the incoming tour
and nothing more

i still think clearly
silent and furious
the usual world of two people: the swindler and the swindled
the puppet and the string
the devil and the sea....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As You Have No Wings

As you have no wings,
I am cutting down mine to please you.
Then we shall snail or walk together
With our eyes fixed at destinations unknown!

You could have told me once
Not to develop wings for myself,
You could have told me twice
That you have had no wings ever.

My wings were my power
Ever have I felt so for long.
But as I cut down them now for you,
My dear, I know I am crippled.

Your limbs have no agility!
Your eyes have no vision!
Your sole hope is me, I know.
But crippled I am!

In the wilderness of these lanes
I know not how to snail or walk on.
You look at me still even as
I remain crippled.

The skies have a charm and
Where they kiss the mountains I was once there
I was wondering to be like them for once
And I am crippled now.

You could have told me
Not to cut down my wings!
But you did never say so.
You ever want to snail or walk with me!

As you have no wings,
I miss to be what I could have been.
As you are wingless ever
Never shall I fly unto my infinite world!

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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This Afternoon's Experience

We face each other
I, the judge, and he, the priest
Accuser,
He claims he had been swindled
And he was furious
And he could have hit the swindler with his fist
Or kicked him
The twist comes
Our souls shifted
I have become the priest
And he becomes
The judge
I have seen the fury in his face
His eyebrows positioned like spears
Ready for a kill
It is shameful
Some tears fall from my eyes
And he does not notice
The shapes of
Compassion

I have long looked to the skies
For answers
And this afternoon
I guess i have
Found some
I tell him i do not really know
Compassion is always
A mouth gagged because there is nothing
Worth saying.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Lowly Nails

Three lowly nails,
Changed the world for you and me
Three lowly nails,
Were used to attach Jesus to a tree
Three lowly nails,
In each hand and through His feet
Three lowly nails,
Set His people free
Three lowly nails,
Gave us a King for eternity

poem by David Kush
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Late Afternoon

Late afternoon
the wind trembles through the branches,
the twittering of birds die down
every insect, beetle,
worm, bee and snail
suddenly finds a resting place
before the night comes.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Snail Shell

Sir hand
Or is it maam
I fell out of my right place again
And you
Considered me
And now Im where a snail has to be
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
I need to know because you see
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Friend
Look what you gave
And how can you ever be repaid?
How may I give you a hand
From the position at your feet where I stand?
So let me thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Id like to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
I need to know because you see
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Snail shell
Thank you
Snail shell
Thank you
Ah
Ah
Ah
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
Or was it something where you acted when you saw the need
And knew that there would be a way the act could be repaid
And so it may, but for today
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beacon

The silent shepherdess,
She of my vows,
Here with me exchanging love
Under dim boughs.

Shines on our mysteries
A sudden spark--
'Dout the candle, glow-worm,
Let all be dark.

'The birds have sung their last notes,
The Sun's to bed,
Glow-worm, dout your candle.'
The glow-worm said:

'I also am a lover;
The lamp I display
Is beacon for my true love
Wandering astray.

'Through the thick bushes
And the grass comes she
With a heartload of longing
And love for me.

'Sir, enjoy your fancy,
But spare me harm,
A lover is a lover,
Though but a worm.'

poem by Robert Graves
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The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

poem by Theodore Roethke
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Waking (1953)

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

poem by Theodore Roethke
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When the franc was in danger of collapsing in 1956, it was the Americans who propped it up and their reward was to be insulted and swindled on the streets of Paris. I was there. I saw it.

quote by Gordon Sinclair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Self Spent

got this small self
small as a snail
slow
pacing like that old snail
that you know
something that you did not
touch
because of pity
got this tiny conscience
like a speck of dust
it is too small and perhaps
of lesser value
than any other self
in this lonely nook
i do not think anymore
how to spend it well
i got a day
or just a second
and i am spending it all
till i am no more.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening

'Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track,
And gone to its nest is the wren,
And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back,
Clings to the bowed bents like a wen.

The shepherd has made a rude mark with his foot
Where his shadow reached when he first came,
And it just touched the tree where his secret love cut
Two letters that stand for love's name.

The evening comes in with the wishes of love,
And the shepherd he looks on the flowers,
And thinks who would praise the soft song of the dove,
And meet joy in these dew-falling hours.

For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love,
Where nothing can hear or intrude;
It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove,
In beautiful green solitude.

poem by John Clare
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Domino

Dining on the minus sign.
Dollars dwindling.
Leaving many to feel swindled.
And the pressures of the times grind.
People try to dismiss the pissed feeling.
'Issues' carried seek others to use!
To dump confusing abusive excuses.
Domino...
The slow fall comes,
To those perplexed.
Domino...
Shows upon those doorsteps.
As the stumbling to avoid,
A growing unrest...
Knocks to shatter a peace that's kept,
With foreclosures to consume,
Consumers of their valuables...
Along with dwellings they treasured,
As their safety net of nests!
Domino takes.
And leaves nothing for them left!
Gone are family heirlooms...
Auctioned with the rest!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Links

The little and the great are joined in one
By God's great force. The wondrous golden sun
Is linked unto the glow-worm's tiny spark;
The eagle soars to heaven in his flight;
And in those realms of space, all bathed in light,
Soar none except the eagle and the lark.

poem by Emma Lazarus
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