About Antonio's Infection
antonio's infection comes
from my own infection, and
so is candice's and
hazelen's infection of the
beautiful mind,
ahh, poetry, the beauty
of each word uttered in silence
each word be it sliding in the
snow and nesting in the
snowflakes
be it in the rustling of the
leaves in the tropical
sun of our islands
be it anywhere, the sound of
each word like a hush from
someone who is far away
and yet so near in the
touch of your sighs
ahh. poetry, the infection
of your sound and
rhythm
filling us softly with clouds
and stars and moon and
sun
upon the loneliness of our
plains and mountains
like a wind, a very cool wind
inside our hearts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liar (Reptile Demo)
she spread herself wide open to let the insects in
she leaves a trail of honey to show me where she's been
she has the blood of reptile just underneath her skin
seeds from a thousand others drip down from within
oh my beautiful liar
oh my precious whore
my disease my infection
i am so impure
give it
devils speak of the way in which she'll manifest
angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress
need to contaminate to alleviate this loneliness
i now know the depths i reach are limitless
oh my beautiful liar
oh my precious whore
my disease my infection
i am so impure
oh
oh
oh my beautiful liar
oh my precious whore
my disease my infection
i am so impure
oh my beautiful liar
oh my precious whore
my disease my infection
i am so impure
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our goal is not to completely eradicate the infection - that would be very difficult - but to produce a vaccine that will prevent not infection but disease. I think this is more possible.
quote by Luc Montagnier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Poetry
It began from a simple word,
Of what the moon had seemingly spoken,
Or a bird’s song I once heard,
Or whispers of the wind of same token;
Then there were colors of the rainbow,
Sketched briefly below the sky blue,
And the clouds’ reflection to the sea,
Spread all their words in my poetry;
The sound of the roaring river,
The melting snow after winter,
The wind breeze in summer,
You hear them in my poetry,
But without the presence of spring,
Flowers blooming every morning,
If no trees, no mountains seen,
In my poetry, you’ll read nothing.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reptile
She spread herself wide open to let the insects in
She leaves a trail of honey to show me where shes been
She has the blood of reptile just underneath her skin
Seeds from a thousand others drip down from within
Oh my beautiful liar
Oh my precious whore
My disease my infection
I am so impure
Devils speak of the ways in which shell manifest
Angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress
Need to contaminate to alleviate this loneliness
I now know the depths I reach are limitless
Oh my beautiful liar
Oh my precious whore
My disease my infection
I am so impure
Production: flood and trent reznor
Mixing engineer: alan moulder
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just as the only reservoir for the typhus virus in nature is provided by man, so the only vector of infection is the louse. The bite of the louse is not virulent immediately after the infecting meal. It becomes so only towards the 7th day following infection.
quote by Charles Jules Henry Nicole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I wanted to know What’s in my heart
I wanted to know
What’s in my heart
I took a knife
Opened it apart
Lot of blood
I saw
Some deep red
Some deep black
I looked at the red
It was full of
Love and affection
Black was full of
Hate and infection
I was happy and crappy
Thought for a while
Decided to change my style
Live with love and affection
Remove the blood
Of hate and infection
Make all the blood red
Never remember
The word hatred
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem About Emptiness
there is word that is written
and it does not stop there as a word
it becomes a syllable
it wriggles and duplicates itself like
a viral infection
(sadly, for this may be the cause of death
and suffering)
and having translated itself into
a multiplicand
it threatens you with bifocal words
acquiring a scent and sound
a siren's call
the sound of the broken shell losing its voice
(not the wind, do not intrigue the wind
with this
for it's free and indifferent
to its independence)
speak about the sea and the waves that
it is giving
all for free and a show of hellos and goodbyes
of to and fro
of come and go
(this may make sense now)
it is a journey never ending
pretending to finish it on the shore
but no
it simply reaches there and leave a mark
of the blankness of the sand
wet and dries again
the laps of the land
which also makes a gimmick of its own
mimicking the sea
it throws the sands back to it
kisses it too
and then goes back to its still state
staring but not really minding what is too ordinary
to behold
this union and separation
this thing that happens all the time
seemingly
there is no joy in this
not even sorrow
just a repetition of what must happen
and what shall happen all over again
it is never ending
a circle
much like a hole
this emptiness that God only fills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ars Poetica....
poetry is
sensitivity,
it is feeling
what we cannot see
it is this vast
darkness
where we pierce
with the light
in our
hearts,
it glows
it traverses
dimensions,
it links
one
to another
they are these roots
intertwining
with tendrils
poetry is
awareness
about what others
fail to know
it is
a flow of emotion
carried by the
trailers of
words,
and sound and scent
and smoke
and mist and
dew
it is the syllabication,
of an imagination
about what
is real what is touched
what is loved
and what hurts the most.
poetry is a beating
a pulse
a timer, a heckle
a tickle,
a pause,
a seizure, a cough,
it is colds
and flu
and a viral infection
and at the same
time it can be
a leisurely walk at the park
with your dog
unleashed
and jumping with too much
happiness
it is the sound of
raindrops
tripping from
the leaking roof
dripping
in our room
to the
wooden floor
it is the fluttering
butterfly
drinking nectar
from flower to
flower
so gentle and
so fragile
it is a wood drifting
in a river
a letting go
wherever it is
taken.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sound is One
The sound is one
The word is one
Sound and Word are one
Word and Sound are one
Each Sound has its own Word
And each Word
Has its own Sound,
If you know the Sound,
You know the Word
If you know one
You know the other…
Knowing is one
The knower is one,
To know is one, one knows,
One speaks and
One's Word calls one's Sound
The Sound calls the Word
And there is no answer but ONE…
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Poetry... All The Time
All Poetry … All The Time
I Love To Read In Rhythm & Rhyme
I Love To Write Of Wistful Wishes
And Lips Speak Of Love Like Bold Kisses
All Poetry … All The Time
Poetry, Is A Medication For My Mind
Poetry, Has A Power To Overthrow Pain
Poetry, Should Be Spoken, Again and Again
All Poetry … All The Time
I Am Really Thrilled To Find
More Poet Lovers, and Their Word Artistry
All The Time … All Poetry
All Poetry … All The Time
May Each Poetic Puff, Rise & Climb
Into The Clouds, Up To The Stars
(Or Maybe Just Linger, Where You Are) …
All Poetry … For All Of Time
Written & ©: 5/24/10
By: MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry
THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY
After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes
Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry is Everywhere
To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.
Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.
Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.
Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.
Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!
09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm
poem by Gita Ashok
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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Who Are You I Dream Of?
I dream of you again.
Surprises with such a twist.
When push comes to shove.
Where do you stand?
On the receiving end.
It all blends in.
Like the hollow existence it is.
Yet I feel the love from all directions.
Its an an infection, just give me another injection.
I rather feel nothing then a confusing pain without a face or name.
Its the remembrance of the alternate plane.
Then why is it so hard to explain.
My mind fumbles and bubbles over the right word.
Its just not yet there.
A descriptive verse hovers in the air.
Not real but not fake.
Impossibilities are at stake.
All because I dream of you.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is No Such Thing As A Meaningless Poem
there is no such thing
as a word without meaning
each word has a shadow
it has its own moon
and marsh
each sigh calls for a word
to give it a sound that you can hear
inside your heart
each moan has a memory beside it
warm and
so gentle
each touch is a syllable that you
keep in silence
as a treasure inside your skin
hence there is no such thing
as a poem without meaning at all
there is always a body
a hand
at night there is always a whisper
a love call
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is Poetry
leaves of jack fruit
like operatic singers
their lips singing the
song of the wind
sun, moon, and stars
steady not on your canvass
rivers flowing and when
you touch them they
are real.They wet you.
not the cheese inside
the toilet bowl
not the sound of flushes
not the odor that kills
the sensibility of
art and beauty
not spoons on poos
not forks on fecal matters
the mockery of poetry
holy mackerel, you love it still
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LVII: Used
There’s no word ‘used’ with loneliness
There’s no word ‘used’ with boredom
There’s no word ‘used’ with pain
There’s no word ‘used’ with rejection
There’s no word ‘used’ with ignorance
There’s no word ‘used’ with guilty
There’s no word ‘used’ with sacrifice
There’s no word ‘used’ with problem
There’s no word ‘used’ with slavery
There’s no word ‘used’ with piracy
There’s no word ‘used’ with power
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Infected
Rot beneath below
Killing the chance to die ... the rising of the dead
The pain denies the soul
Even after
The killing gently
Dissection of the light ... the rotting of the soul
The pain realize the wounds
.. lives
You light the soul
Killing ones they save ... the rotting of the soul
Dying of the pain
Killing the soul
Killing send you to your grave
Dying soon the one they save
Tearing rid you of your limbs
Infection soon sets in
Peeling rid you of your skin ... infection!
Coming soon the end of life
Die ... cure you of infliction
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is No Sound In Me Now
THERE IS NO SOUND IN ME NOW
There is no sound in me now.
Waiting in silence
Straining against emptiness
Trying and trying
Word after word
Line after line
I force another poem upon the world
Which reads not.
Vanity of vanities
Even in poetry-
Vanity of vanities
Poetic lust.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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