Alone.....
... is such a much abused,
molested than ever
overused, cliche
of the century, spoken
by the majority,
a cancer, a lump,
a freckle, a wound,
a scar, but no matter
how i hate this,
my God, it is still
poetic!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Jack Cornstalk in his Teens
“If not in the Garden, he had in the ark,
To neither the beasts’ nor the passengers’ joy.
Full many a boyish and monkeyish lark,
The sandy-complexioned, the freckle-faced boy.
And down through the ages he rattles the drums,
While armies and nations each other destroy;
The century goes, and the century comes
But he lives on forever, the freckle-faced boy.
All over the world are the lands of his birth;
And when Time and Transgression this planet destroy
He will come to advise the last man on earth
The fatherly, chummy, the freckle-faced boy.”
poem by Henry Lawson
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Host
Ive read you well
I just want to get away
Cos you used my love
I just need to get away
My trust in you has been abused
My trust in you has been overused
Sick of this space
Wish we could be far away
Cos I wasted all my youth
Ill never see it again
My trust in you has been abused
My trust in you has been overused
Why can you get everything?
Can you tell me why I just want to run away?
Can you tell me why I just want to get away?
I just want to get away...
I just wanted too much
I wish we could be far away
And if my wish comes true
Youll never see me again
song performed by by Muse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of Sparks And Hearts
of what can we claim
that we say deep from our
hearts?
love? overused, abused,
molested, that is what people always
say
sometimes without meaning
anymore
cliches, cliches,
nothing of that spark
for those that come from the heart
without even trying
hard to say it
its the hug that speaks
the kiss that seals
the hand that touches the
shoulder
the eyes that see not
what we are
not
what can we see from
the heart?
veins, blood,
muscles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Things With Stories Of Their Own
overused
lipstick, abused plate and spoon,
molested carpets,
a breakdown of shattered
glasses in the living room,
wasted wine,
roasted pork,
over fried chicken legs
egg broiled
with black sulfur
smoked chimney,
candle floors, oiled skins,
dyed hair
snake pit, outgrown shoes,
dry leaves, crying babies,
foul socks, suckers,
milestones, limestone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just Fit In, We're Going
here comes the sun, is a cliche.
i put a spell on you, is another cliche.
i think i love you, most abused cliche.
you complete me, movie cliche,
strawberry fields,
scents of magnolia, fresh and soothing,
vanilla ice cream,
chocolate Popsicle,
mint puffs,
and cotton candy, and black forest.
coca-cola and ice cubes,
inside a glass
against the summer sun
your lips sucking the straw
your face covered with my shadow.
i am no longer conscious about their
taboos
got mine, and i like it
when i am finally free.
i store more cliches and
lick them
like Popsicle on a hot
summer day.
no hard feelings. Just fit in.
we're going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Remember The Used
I remember the used,
The ones abused,
Beaten to depression,
Tears of pain,
Lost in confusion,
A world black of hate.
Crying tunes of hate,
The minds of the used,
Now filled with confusion,
Their lives abused,
A state of pain,
The chain of depression,
The memories of depression,
The faces of hate,
Weighed down by pain,
Beaten and used,
The ones abused,
lost in confusion.
The label of confusion,
On a plate of depression,
Given to those abused,
The planted seeds of hate,
A bush beaten and used,
The thorns of pain.
An orchestra of pain,
With notes of confusion,
A song called used,
Interments of depression,
Plays tunes of hate,
To those abused.
This me world abused,
My life a world of pain,
Memories of hate,
The smell of confusion,
The darkness of my depression,
A life used.
The path for the used and abused,
Confusion of those in depression,
The hate caused by pain.
poem by Eric Adams
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I don't like to use 'gourmet' because it has become so overused and abused.
quote by Arthur Schwartz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hate That I Hate
I hate the hate that resides in me now
I hate the hate that is so heavy it weighs me down
I hate the hate that keeps my emotions tightly wound
I hate the hate that charges my wall
I hate the hate that lies to strengthen my fall
I hate the hate that has me in chains
I hate the hate that courses through my veins
I hate the hate that is a shadow at my side
I hate the hate that has stolen my mind
I hate the hate that blinds me from the stars
I hate the hate that has created my war
I hate the hate that has stolen my grace
My scarlet letter written all over my face
poem by Adalie Hettie
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Wound
a wound will always
be a wound.
a scar may come
to say you are healed
but soon it will
remember the wound.
perhaps you have not
loved enough
to learn from those
whose hearts
are broken, they
say: forgive and forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Peeling Life Layer By Layer
like onions
(let me say this again
on an overused cliche)
we peel our lives
layer by layer and we shed
tears
i have done it
and (let me say this once again)
i arrive at the core and
whew! (did you notice it?)
there is nothing worth seeing
there.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old scar, new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
Old scar on the hand
New scar on the head
Same pain, different trouble
First came shock
Then hurt became blue
Blue’s gone leaving scar
Old scar, white scar
New scar, hidden well
When morning’s gone, nights always come
Craving old scar, leaving new scar
Old scar, new scar
Stitched together by excellent tailor
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A Scar Called Rape
I hate Him
I hate what He did
I hate what He wants
I hate all my scars
I hate all the memories
I hate everything about Him
I HATE HIM
He took my life
He changed who i was
He gave me a scar
and took my voice
Rape
Hate Him
poem by Audrey Marie Kay
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God Help The Children
the abused
the battered
the beaten
the molested
the raped
the murdered.
I see them daily
in the newspapers
on the tv screen
in the streets
innocent faced and pure
stained by the sins of their elders.
This is not what life promised them.
Cover their faces
place their tiny bodies
in tiny coffins
bury them in tiny graves
while their mothers weep.
We should all be weeping
Do not blame only their abusers
the ones who beat them
molested them
raped them
tortured them
killed them.
Blame us all.
A country that cannot look after its children
has no right to call itself free.
God save the children-
God save us all.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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the big C
those who fear it cannot call it
by its own name
big C for cancer,
but cancer is cancer
no more no less
depends on what stage
then you are taken
as the next
victim by an old
expert culprit
so unforgiving
mercilessly taking the lives
of those
destined to die
cancer is cancer
no more no less
a friend of mine dies
today of cancer of the
liver.
period. I say another prayer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Almost Poetic
It's almost poetic
The way you speak
It's almost poetic
The way you think
The way you sleep and dream
It's almost poetic
The way I feel for you
It's almost poetic
The way we argue
It's almost poetic
When we say goodbye
Not knowing the next time
We'll see each other
You are the curved line
And I am the dot
That creates the question mark..
And it's almost poetic
If it were not so pathetic.
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Waiting For The Results
did the lump grown bigger?
what could be the cause of this?
what is next to do?
shall we just go home
and then do nothing,
these are the questions of
another woman who is stricken with cancer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Another Way Of Looking At It
it is the body
that takes me
it is this body
that uses me
i am one helpless
soul
abused by my body
molested
by its taste
its tongue
its hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The marks of sorrow
The marks of sorrow
Scar the faceless sky
Each cloud a wound
Each wound a sign
Of things no more
Quivering up in lines
Countenance shades
The Moon impaled
On blades
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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One of life's best coping mechanisms is to know the difference between an inconvenience and a problem. Life is inconvenient. Life is lumpy. A lump in the oatmeal, a lump in the throat and a lump in the breast are not the same kind of lump. One needs to learn the difference.
quote by Robert Fulghum
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It is proof of a base and low mind for one to wish to think with the masses or majority, merely because the majority is the majority. Truth does not change because it is, or is not, believed by a majority of the people.
quote by Giordano Bruno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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