Brautigan....
ok, no money,
ok, there is no fame,
there is nothing to expect
from those mothers of art,
their children unrecognized
no share, no will,
nothing to expect, from all these
children of art.
ok, you sit alone, by the window
you put your folded arms,
you look outside
the people pass you by
and they do not bother
looking at you for the second time
ok, nothing delicious for breakfast
this month's rental is not paid
electricity bill lies there calling your attention
this is a poor guy, inside a foul room,
shits are all around
favorite expression: f....
age forgotten
wrinkles multiply
sour face
forested hair
thin chin, deep sunken eyes
restless fingers
ok, no friend really wants to read a poem
or if they read, one visit, it is out of pity
not even respect
don't cry. there is nothing worth crying.
just sit there
tomorrow they will bring the news
a friend writes a letter that for once he will dabble in poetry
and he has written one
though too personalized and needs further editing
you look at the ceiling as you lie hopeless in your bed,
you see images of hope
nothing angelic, there are no wings, no halo
not white, blurred, brownish, chinks
pieces, naked words, unfinished dialogues,
the unknown people at the other room
can hear you laughing
you laugh so hard
alone
perhaps, this time, you shall win.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
133
when you read a poem do not expect too much
when you read a poem do not expect too much
from every word
my words too falter and fall short
of strength like the runner who always wins his sprint
and now in his worst state
mourns for his knee
which is broken
my images too wilt like some red roses that
a lover offered once to his true love
but now deserted
and looks at them in the state of dryness
when you read this poem do not therefore expect too much
this is just a sigh
looking for an opening in the crevices of an understanding heart
this poem is just a mirror and you will be the face who must
give your smile
the light from the window shall provide the glimmer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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111
The useless poem
He knows that his poetry
Is a useless endeavor
As you put it,
There is no money for a poet,
Not even fame when he is alive
Or even dead, perhaps for some,
Whose lines are judged for greatness
His poetry is nothing but a way of laundering
His emotions,
Not even read
Nobody really cared
How many nights did he spend to make a poem?
His heart bleeds
For more pain, his stomach acidifies for more
Harmful corrosive liquids rising to his brain
Through all his intestines and veins
And he goes groggy
Nauseous,
Till dawn breaks he makes his lines
Like a fool
He wants to stop and put an end to everything
He is suffering
He knows the end
Cannot refer to this poem
But to his life
He ends it
His poetry may live on some pages
But (again) not even read because nobody
Nobody really cared
Perhaps someday when another useless poet
Comes accidentally along
Surfing
Or
Writes the same useless
Lines like the way he wrote his
By a slim chance
He shall then
Be read for once
Through this poem
Again
And again
Because in fact
There are many of them
More than you will expect
Rereading the useless poems
Still bleeding asking for care and even forgiveness
(The vice of asking for attention
The uselessness of recognition)
Another one reads it this time
It is, I will not mind, You
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When You Read A Poem Do Not Expect Too Much
when you read a poem do not expect too much
from every word
my words too falter and fall short
of strength like the runner who always wins his sprint
and now in his worst state
mourns for his knee
which is broken
my images too wilt like some red roses that
a lover offered once to his true love
but now deserted
and looks at them in the state of dryness
when you read this poem do not therefore expect too much
this is just a sigh
looking for an opening in the crevices of an understanding heart
this poem is just a mirror and you will be the face who must
give your smile
the light from the window that shall provide the glimmer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The useless poem
He knows that his poetry
Is a useless endeavor
As you put it,
There is no money for a poet,
Not even fame when he is alive
Or even dead, perhaps for some,
Whose lines are judged for greatness
His poetry is nothing but a way of laundering
His emotions,
Not even read
Nobody really cared
How many nights did he spend to make a poem?
His heart bleeds
For more pain, his stomach acidifies for more
Harmful corrosive liquids rising to his brain
Through all his intestines and veins
And he goes groggy
Nauseous,
Till dawn breaks he makes his lines
Like a fool
He wants to stop and put an end to everything
He is suffering
He knows the end
Cannot refer to this poem
But to his life
He ends it
His poetry may live on some pages
But (again) not even read because nobody
Nobody really cared
Perhaps someday when another useless poet
Comes accidentally along
Surfing
Or
Writes the same useless
Lines like the way he wrote his
By a slim chance
He shall then
Be read for once
Through this poem
Again
And again
Because in fact
There are many of them
More than you will expect
Rereading the useless poems
Still bleeding asking for care and even forgiveness
(The vice of asking for attention
The uselessness of recognition)
Another one reads it this time
It is, I will not mind, You
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Peom For K. (The Banker With All The Conflicting Interests)
i shall now write
a poem for my happiest day,
it is all about an old, scheming and fraudulent
woman
stacking all her money and the money of the other
people
inside her room
inside her house and inside
her bigger storehouses
she says
these are all for her children
and grandchildren and the children
of all her grandchildren and
all the coming children of more
grandchildren & great great grandchildren
what is mad about this is
that she is taking the money due
to other people who are hungry and innocent
and gullible
but she is a very
wise woman and she gets what she wants
she gets what she all wants
practically everything that her hands can
hold her eyes can see
perhaps
forgetting that soon she will be
made to pay for the price of her greed
and avarice and dirty schemes and
foul techniques and it will be for all
her children and grandchildren and the children
of all her grandchildren and
all the coming children of more
grandchildren all the coming children of more
great grandchildren &
great great grandchildren
...and then justice shall reign
but when it comes
i shall not see this event anymore
but i will be happy
>>>ii
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry in Me.........
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
Anger writes the feelings in the speed of thought,
I swing the axe to split the block of inspiration
Mind Pictures in my words sleeping under dreams.
Happiness and sadness hold hands in the whirlpool of words
Metaphor movies flicker in my brain,
Venting feelings to flow from my pen,
Celestial images punctuated live as
Syllables jostle for rhythm’s flow.
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Then wonders mark unfolds, originality leaps forth.
My eyes close feeling tired the hour is late
On this session I must close the gate,
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts sleep,
A silent friend to keep.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Expect Your ………….You!
Expect your friend to be not better than you;
Expect your neighbor to not forgive you;
Expect your country not to goad you;
Expect your siblings to but discourage you;
Expect your children to not care for you;
Expect your spouse to rather hinder you;
Expect your love to always forget you;
Expect your home sometimes to ignore you;
Expect your native place to not honor you;
Expect the world to disregard you;
Expect your enemy to well hate you;
Expect your Maker to much love you;
Expect your God to never forsake you;
Expect your Lord and God to never abandon you.
poem by John Celes
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The Wife
"Tell Annie I'll be home in time
To help her with her Christmas-tree."
That's what he wrote, and hark! the chime
Of Christmas bells, and where is he?
And how the house is dark and sad,
And Annie's sobbing on my knee!
The page beside the candle-flame
With cruel type was overfilled;
I read and read until a name
Leapt at me and my heart was stilled:
My eye crept up the column -- up
Unto its hateful heading: Killed.
And there was Annie on the stair:
"And will he not be long?" she said.
Her eyes were bright and in her hair
She'd twined a bit of riband red;
And every step was daddy's sure,
Till tired out she went to bed.
And there alone I sat so still,
With staring eyes that did not see;
The room was desolate and chill,
And desolate the heart of me;
Outside I heard the news-boys shrill:
"Another Glorious Victory!"
A victory. . . . Ah! what care I?
A thousand victories are vain.
Here in my ruined home I cry
From out my black despair and pain,
I'd rather, rather damned defeat,
And have my man with me again.
They talk to us of pride and power,
Of Empire vast beyond the sea;
As here beside my hearth I cower,
What mean such words as these to me?
Oh, will they lift the clouds that low'r,
Or light my load in years to be?
What matters it to us poor folk?
Who win or lose, it's we who pay.
Oh, I would laugh beneath the yoke
If I had him at home to-day;
One's home before one's country comes:
Aye, so a million women say.
"Hush, Annie dear, don't sorrow so."
(How can I tell her?) "See, we'll light
With tiny star of purest glow
Each little candle pink and white."
(They make mistakes. I'll tell myself
I did not read that name aright.)
Come, dearest one; come, let us pray
Beside our gleaming Christmas-tree;
Just fold your little hands and say
These words so softly after me:
"God pity mothers in distress,
And little children fatherless."
"God pity mothers in distress,
And little children fatherless."
. . . . .
What's that? -- a step upon the stair;
A shout! -- the door thrown open wide!
My hero and my man is there,
And Annie's leaping by his side. . . .
The room reels round, I faint, I fall. . . .
"O God! Thy world is glorified."
poem by Robert William Service
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Have You Heard The News?
Flying thru the airwaves
Living thru the printed word
Flasher in the living room
Guru of the seen and heard
Who decides what we get to hear?
Fuzzy round the edges
Or making it clear?
Blinding us with those facts
Blinding us with those facts
Chorus
Have you heard the news?
Wo wo wo wooo
Have you heard the news?
Written on the black and white page
We cant believe what we read
Doubting of reality
Has become the new rage
Who says that truth is stranger than fiction?
Money [it talks] and it will cause less friction
A few white lies for a nice little sensation
Chorus
Little box in the corner
A picture worth a thousand words
But who chooses which pictures we see?
Who decides on the commentary?
Keeping people in a state of confusion
Theres a thin line between facts and illusion
Diverting our attention from big brother in the city
Chorus
When will we get, when will we get to the real nitty gritty,
Nitty gritty, nitty gritty
When will we get to it, when will we get to it now, when will we get to
It
When will we get to it?
Living thru the printed word
[flasher] in the living room
Guru of the seen and heard
Who decides what we get to hear?
Fuzzy round the edges
Or making it clear?
Blinding us with those facts oh
Blinding us with those facts
Chorus
Have you heard, have you heard?
Chorus
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People Expect Too Much From Me
aug,11,2010
people expect me to be perfect,
because i'm smart,
people expect me to get good grades,
because of all the hard work i put in,
people expect me to have my own business,
because i can be talented and creative,
people expect me to be a push over,
rather than a girl who speaks her mind,
people expect me to be something i'm not,
but all i can be is only myself,
people expect me to deal with life,
i can only deal with it the best i can,
people expect me to handle more than i can,
but who is it really for or what do i have to prove?
people expect me to be who they want,
but did they ever stop to think of what i wanted?
poem by Mona Martinez
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The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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for Tem on his last day
THE WORLD does not weep
for a quitter, no matter what
no matter how deep is your sorrow
no matter how justifying the circumstances
precipitating inside that cup of poison,
another poem is written for you
a sympathizer from another country
perhaps suffering too
like you
or us, but it will be only for a short while,
after the last word is written and read
the world moves again, spins upon itself
to complete another revolution,
nothing is achieved much, time does not tell,
but the motion keeps on moving
like a spiral, like a steep stair moving up
only to arrive at an empty room,
i believe in something else,
that someone is waiting out there
i guess, you are right, the end is reasonable,
but the means will always be questioned.
i hope you still have time to read the poem of Mike
i guess, sincerity lies there,
i still shiver about an old age that could not wait
for more time.
at the end, who knows? but you cannot tell. You are silent
as cement.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tomorrow People
A time warp scene
A cy-fi story
A dirt coloured love
Hey hope for glory
I like to fight,
I kill global oppression
If I quit, no hope of redemption
Blue eyes crying in the rain
For how long
Tomorrow people
I laugh tomorrow gone
For how long
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow people
Well you know Im free on arrival
Left behind my babe, by guilt of survival
I dont know where Im runnin to
I lost my love, lost my hold,
I lost my heaven too
Blue eyes crying in the rain
For how long
Tomorrow people
I laugh tomorrow gone
For how long
Tomorrow people
Blue eyes crying in the rain
For how long
Tomorrow people
I laugh tomorrow gone
For how long, soon come
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow people
Yah come on loud
Now my life is truly misspent
I said
Im here to tell you, to tell you
That I wont repent
World war iii
Death pain
Its fate lets do it again
Tomorrow man
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow man
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow man
A time warp scene
A ci-fy story (tomorrow people)
A dirt coloured sky (tomorrow people)
New hope for glory
I like to fight
I kill global oppression
(tomorrow people)
When I quit, new hope for redemption
(tomorrow people)
Blue eyes crying in the rain
Tomorrow people
I laugh tomorrow gone
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow people
Tomorrow people
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unknown Soldier
Wait until the war is over
And were both a little older
The unknown soldier
Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Unborn living, living, dead
Bullet strikes the helmets head
And its all over
For the unknown soldier
Its all over
For the unknown soldier
Hut
Hut
Hut ho hee up
Hut
Hut
Hut ho hee up
Hut
Hut
Hut ho hee up
Compnee
Halt
Preeee-zent!
Arms!
Make a grave for the unknown soldier
Nestled in your hollow shoulder
The unknown soldier
Breakfast where the news is read
Television children fed
Bullet strikes the helmets head
And, its all over
The war is over
Its all over
The war is over
Well, all over, baby
All over, baby
Oh, over, yeah
All over, baby
Wooooo, hah-hah
All over
All over, baby
Oh, woa-yeah
All over
All over
Heeeeyyyy
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taking A Glance At You
taking a glance at you
is poetry in itself, by itself and for itself.
there are words in my eyes
they speak in silence. They long to tell you what i feel.
there are hands on my lips. There are fingers there.
They long to go near you and kiss your lips too.
i see you as words too. Your eyes are images of my
own happiness. Your lips are shaping the shapes of ships
and they have sails to take me away to ecstacies.
i feel you as words of love, and lust and desire insatiable.
my fingers want to read every syllable in your face.
you have always been my poem.And there are so many of you
in all of them.
words, and images, and ecstacies. faces and compositions.
i love all of them. And this time i take a glance again.
at you. this poem. this is you. Believe me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life For The Living, Nothing More!
he lies awake,
the room cold and dark....
except for moonlight pouring
through the curtainless window....
she lies naked, wrapped into
every pore of him,
their breath hanging like small clouds.
the smell of love and woodsmoke,
the heartbeat of silence
resonates off bare walls....
no money, little food, tomorrow
to look for work......always tomorrow!
the sound of gunfire, and children's voices
haunt the back of memory forgotten.....
they called it history, the great change....
maybe just looking to fill the pot!
but for now just now,
the moment stolen and precious....
life for the living, nothing more.
he turned and wiped the hair from her face....
prayed the minutes would be slow,
watching her sleep!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Unknown Soldier
Wait until the war is over
And we're both a little older.
The unknown soldier.
Breakfast where the news is read.
Television children fed.
Unborn living. Living dead.
Bullet strikes the helmet's head
And it's all over
For the unknown soldier.
It's all over
For the unknown soldier.
*army marching sounds*
*gun firing*
Make a grave for the unknown soldier
Nestled in your hollow shoulder.
The unknown soldier.
Breakfast where the news is read.
Television children fed.
Bullet strikes the helmet's head
And
song performed by by The Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I put in black and white for you to read and you don't...
When I put it black and white for you too read.
And you don't
With a message you plant a seed
To grow it won't
To ask such a vague question
An expect me respond.
Well how about a question to the question as a lesson
When I put it in black and white for you to read
And you don't
Don't expect me to believe
No I won't
I have no willingness to take part in the frivolous
Even if it is from the anonymous
I say stupendous, another rejected letter
Lets surround it with hearts and feathers
When I put in black and white for you to read
And you don't
Don't expect me to conceive
For accepting the idea of innocence I just won't
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Friends
What is a friend
Could it be that it's just a word
Or something in your life that you've heard
Or just another one of those big fat lies
Because many nights this word has made me cry
So hard my stomach hurts deep down inside
[chorus]
uh oh there goes that word again
How do we let it end
I thought you were my friend
I can't believe my very eyes
Right to my face you lied
Cause you're my so-called friend
How could you call yourself a friend
Oh oh there goes that word again
That brings people together and tears them apart
It's always said by those who claim they love you
When all the while they want to fill your shoes
And never calling you up with no good news
They're always happy when your through
They never want the best for you
They're always trying to fill your shoes
(I don't understand this kind of friend)
[chorus]
uh oh there goes that word again
How do we let it end
I thought you were my friend
I can't believe my very eyes
Right to my face you lied
Cause you're my so-called friend
Opportunity's knocking here comes my friend
uh oh there goes that word again
(they only come around when they need something y'all)
They call you everyday 'til they reel you in
And they want to hang out so you can spend on them
(I don't understand, I don't understand this kind of friend)
[chorus]
uh oh there goes that word again
How do we let it end
I thought you were my friend
I can't believe my very eyes
Right to my face you lied
Cause you're my so-called friend
[repeat chorus til fade]
song performed by by Mary J Blige
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Your World
People laughing
People hating
Violence brewing
Stillness waiting
Will you be able to read the signs
People laughing
People cheating
Streets are full of homeless sleeping
Will you be able to stop the crime
One day you'll be over your fears it will take time
Someday you'll be wearing your tears inside your smile
The sun will rise (in your world)
The moon will shine (in your world)
The years will go by (in your world)
You will be alright (in your world)
Children laughing
Children playing
TVs full of mindless sayings
Will you be able to hear them cry
Children watching
Children knowing
Not too sure of where their going
Will you able to give them time
One day you'll be over your fears it will take time
Someday you'll be wearing your tears inside your smile
The sun will rise (in your world)
The moon will shine (in your world)
The years will go by (in your world)
You will be alright
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
In your world
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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