Daily
you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid
you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen
you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping
they call it life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Showing The True Color
when i wake up this early morning
she was not already beside me.
i do not want to rise and fold the blanket
and go somewhere else.
or read the papers, or sip coffee, there is
this laziness that infects my bones, a disease
of meaning, another slow day, the routine is
eating me, and i behave
in a manner that i am like a lame duck being
aimed at by all the bystanders
i am opening my eyes, and the ceiling is off
white, it has been that way ever since i got married,
why did i leave it that way? i have the money to have
it painted pure white, like a very clean slate where
i can write what i must mean, but i didn't, i let things
that way they are from the beginning, and perhaps
they will still be at the end. This is what i do next,
always always i do this: i rise from my bed, go to my
circular mirror and look at my face, they also do it,
and then i touch my cheeks and chin, feeling the roughness
of the beard, how they have grown long and so untidy,
the razor is ready, and the soap and water, but this time
i will do what i cannot do the other days of my life,
i will not trim the unruly ones, i will not wash my face,
i may slap myself, and then i give the mirror the grin
of the man that is used to all these doubts and shame.
i will tell it, i am now myself.And then i will the bathroom
another tune for my whistle, nobody, nobody but me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Much Depends On This Experience
one night when you arrive home
it is you that opens the garage
you have to step out of the car
and expose yourself to this inevitable coldness of a nightfall
no one is home
tonight
when you open the door using your own duplicate key
you switch on the light
no one is home tonight
the garage and house is now well lighted
you close the door and all the windows
you go straight to your bedroom
&
switch on the air-conditioner
you feel the arrival of a very cold packet of wind
from the tip of your feet
and it arrives like a jackal
as you begin to imagine it to be like
the one that you read in those horror books
it howls so loud trying to break the tympanum of your ears
and it is going to bite you
with its sharp eyes and teeth
but there is something so wrong with you:
you are not afraid, you do not mind jackals,
and now you are ready to bite this crazy one
you like this cold, and you smell the frost
you lick it
there is something so wrong with you:
you are aroused, and you do not like to sleep at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Daily Routine In New York
Early in the morning
A rude awakening at the sound
Of the alarm clock...
Trying to steal an extra
Ten minutes of sleep
But it is time to get up,
Time to go to work...
Soap and towel handy,
While in the shower,
Listening to Billy Joel
Or the morning news...
Traffic and weather reports,
While drinking coffee
And smoking a cigarette...
Quickly going through the newspapers
To faithfully read my horoscope...
My everyday routine in New York
Rushing again to go to work...
'Good Morning' intended
For the whole week
Hoping not to miss my train
Avoiding to be reprehended
for being late...
Meeting so many strangers
Just like me
Dragging smiles or sleeping faces
Exhibiting a great deal of effort.
People leering hopefully for attention,
Expecting a suggestion
At the slightest flicker of an eyebrow...
I haven't started my day work
And I want to go back home to sleep...
That is my daily routine in New York...
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monday Papers
I dont want to go out any more
I read the news, I cant believe my eyes
I push the table against the door
You know Ive had it with the world outside
If you want to know about the murderers and junkies
If you want to know about the lower east side
Now they got a map shows you where to get your monkey
You can read it in the monday papers, monday papers
Some people like a little gore
Some people always at the scenes of crimes
Now they can watch the tv more
Now they can get it in the sunday times
If you find it hard to handle what you see on page one
You can pull the funnies out and have some laughs
Take a drink and maybe you can laugh at ronald reagan
You can read it in the monday papers, read it in the monday papers
Monday papers dont ask no questions
Monday papers dont get no lies
Monday papers dont raise objection
Monday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to be a star
Ladies - if you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the monday papers, read it in the monday papers
Monday papers dont ask no questions
Monday papers dont get no lies
Monday papers dont raise objection
Monday papers dont got no eyes
Monday papers dont ask no questions
Monday papers dont get no lies
Monday papers dont raise objection
Monday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, monday papers
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buy Me A Rose
(jim funk/erik hickenlooper)
He works hard to give her all he thinks she wants
A three car garage, her own credit cards
He pulls in late to wake her up with a kiss good night
If he could only read her mind, shed say:
Buy me a rose, call me from work
Open a door for me, what would it hurt
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
These are the little things I need the most in my life
Now the days have grown to years of feeling all alone
And she cant help but wonder what shes doing wrong
Cause lately shed try anything to turn his head
Would it make a difference if she said:
Buy me a rose, call me from work
Open a door for me, what would it hurt
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
These are the little things I need the most in my life
And the more that he lives the less that he tries
To show her the love that he hold inside
And the more that she gives the more that he sees
This is a story of you and me
So I bought you a rose on the way home from work
Opened the door to a heart that I hurt
And I hope you notice this look in my eyes
Cause Im gonna make things right
Im gonna hold you tonight
Do all those little things
For the rest of your life.
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Papers
Mother doesnt go out any more
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know about the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know about the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the sunday papers, sunday papers
Mothers wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the tvs on
Whatever moves beyond these walls
Shell know the facts when sunday comes along
If you want to know about the man gone bonkers
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know about the other suckers
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, sunday papers
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life Is As Simple And Enjoyable As Sipping Coffee Early Morning And Enjoying The Scenery Of A Rustic Place
alright,
we simplify this
it is early morning
they have not awakened yet
the house is very peaceful
the windows are closed still
and the doors too
alright
stand, walk towards the window
open all of them
let the cold air come in
then walk towards the door
unlock it
and open it too and then
let the cold air
come in
you want coffee?
go to the kitchen
take a spoon a cup and saucer and
take sugar and coffee and
hot water
you know what to do, right?
feel at home
this is your home
now take your time
sit on a chair
face the trees
stir your coffee
feel it hot
and then sip
enjoy, savor the scenery of
this rustic place
feel the wind on your cheeks
take the warm side of the cup
alright,
is not life as simple as this?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Insomnia (Life Poem)
Darkness envelopes me like a thin grey blanket
Listen to sleeping body snores warm beside me
Imaginary ghosts emerge out of the shadows
Tomorrow’s plans become tonight’s mental list.
Twist and turn, heart beats fast, should sleep
Can’t sleep, get up, drink tea, read email, yawn
Email replies at three clears the decks, wide awake
Online yesterday’s Irish Times becomes today’s.
Skype “Hi” to friends on PST and office in Asia
In bed, read Robinson Crusoe, always meant to
Watch watch, almost five, two hours to breakfast
Sleep heavy eyes, day bright,7am news, yawn.
poem by Ian Beckett
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You Can Have Him
(1951) irving berlin
I don't want him you can have him
He's not worth fighting for
Besides there's plenty more where he came from
I don't want him you can have him
I'm giving him the sack
And he can go right back where he came from
I'm afraid i never loved him
Sweetie he'd be better off with you
I could never make him happy
All i ever wanted to do was
Run my fingers through his curly locks
Mend his underwear and darn his socks
Fetch his slippers and remove his shoes
Wipe his glasses when he's read the news
Rub his forehead with a gentle touch
Mornings after when he's had a little too much
Kiss him gently when he cuddles near
And give him babies one for every year
So you see that i don't want him you can have him
You can have him cos i don't want him
Because he's not the man for me
Then i'd close the window while he soundly slept
Then i'd raid the icebox where the food is kept
I'd fix the breakfast that would please him most
Eggs and coffee some apricot juice and some buttered toast
Oh oh then i'd go out and buy the papers
And when they've been read spend the balance of the day in bed
So you see that i don't want him you can have him
You can have him cos i don't want him because he's not my man
I don't want him you can have him
You can have him i don't want him
You can have him i don't want him
Cos he's not the man for me
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Can Have Him
[maizie:]
You can have him
I dont want him
Hes not worth fighting for
Besides theres plenty more where he came from
I dont want him
You can have him
Im giving him the sack
And he can go right back where he came from
I could never make him happy
Hed be better off with you
Im afraid I never loved him
All I ever wanted to do was
Run my fingers thru his curly locks
Mend his underwear and darn his socks
Fetch his slippers and remove his shoes
Wipe his glasses when he read the news
Rub his forehead with a gentle touch
Mornings after when hes had too much
Kiss him gently when he cuddled near
Give him babies one for evry year, so you see
I dont want him, you can have him
You can have him, I dont want him
For hes not the man for me
[monique:]
You can have him
I dont want him
Hes not worth fighting for
Besides theres plenty more where he came from
I dont want him
You can have him
He isnt my concern
And he can just return where he came from
I would look a trifle silly
Taking him away from you
That was never my intention
All I ever wanted to do was
Close the window while he soundly slept
Raid the icebox where the food is kept
Cook a breakfast that would please him most
Eggs and coffee and some buttered toast
Wake him gently with a breakfast tray
After breakfast clear the things away
Bring the papers and when theyve been read
Spend the balance of the day in bed, so you see
I dont want him, you can have him
You can have him, I dont want him
For hes not the man for me
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Can Have Him
[maizie:]
You can have him
I dont want him
Hes not worth fighting for
Besides theres plenty more where he came from
I dont want him
You can have him
Im giving him the sack
And he can go right back where he came from
I could never make him happy
Hed be better off with you
Im afraid I never loved him
All I ever wanted to do was
Run my fingers thru his curly locks
Mend his underwear and darn his socks
Fetch his slippers and remove his shoes
Wipe his glasses when he read the news
Rub his forehead with a gentle touch
Mornings after when hes had too much
Kiss him gently when he cuddled near
Give him babies one for evry year, so you see
I dont want him, you can have him
You can have him, I dont want him
For hes not the man for me
[monique:]
You can have him
I dont want him
Hes not worth fighting for
Besides theres plenty more where he came from
I dont want him
You can have him
He isnt my concern
And he can just return where he came from
I would look a trifle silly
Taking him away from you
That was never my intention
All I ever wanted to do was
Close the window while he soundly slept
Raid the icebox where the food is kept
Cook a breakfast that would please him most
Eggs and coffee and some buttered toast
Wake him gently with a breakfast tray
After breakfast clear the things away
Bring the papers and when theyve been read
Spend the balance of the day in bed, so you see
I dont want him, you can have him
You can have him, I dont want him
For hes not the man for me
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Know You Live A Very Simple Life
i know my friend that
you live a very simple life out there
waking up in the morning
working in the office
buying food in the market
watch tv
sleep early at night
wake up early again
listen to the morning news
a visit in the chapel
work in the office again
a chat with friends
a little drink of cali with them
sometimes
and no broken heart to nourish
like a wound that does not heal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Daily Poems
these may just be words
letters that one need not read carefully
as they are not instructions
or manuals for daily living
not something edible to eat
not a ball to play with on late afternoons
when you have nothing to do
not a bar of beauty soap for your face
not a lotion for your skin
not a piece of cake or a fried potato
for your breakfast table
neither is it a cup of hot coffee
they are not necessities of life
yet somehow
the daily poems of our lives
make us live
a day more,
an hour more of promise
a moment of more tolerance
another year of patience with ourselves
a night of nice sleep
under the stars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Are Not A Fixture Inside A Lonely Room....
the wonderful times are gone
but soon they will come,
they too, like us, are going on a break
a vacation that
they too badly need,
somehow
you enter the door of the lonely house
when the wonderful times are gone
you sit on a chair, listen to the carpets
talk to the paintings, and take a cup of coffee
you look around, stare at the ceiling,
read the papers, and then watch the news
it is evening, you light at candle
at the dining table,
you cook and you eat yourself,
and then you undress yourself
look at your body in the mirror
it is still beautiful and then you
take a shower, wipe the water,
spray some perfume, drink a glass of water,
turn off the TV and the lights at the lawn
and then you sleep alone.
you dream.
so many dreams to still dream
but you do not wish to remember
each episode of this dream
too many loads to carry
so much to think about
so much imaginings
and you do not need them
time is too short
for so much sentimentalism
when the wonderful times were once here
you had a nice dance with her
you made love in the morning,
you smoke her cigar,
you drink and savor the taste of the
sweet and sparkling wine
you remember the joys of ejaculations
intellectually on the romantic stories you have read
beside her
the wonderful times are over now
you had it, you once had it all,
savor the memories
and then you must forget to begin again
you leave a house,
go on another destination
meet another love,
for love is the cure for love
when the heart breaks,
it is but of essence that it must heal itself
because that is life,
a thriving, a revival of this heart of fire
it beats a pulse, it makes you run
and never does it make you stay
like some kind of a fixture
in that lonely room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Familiarity And Monotony Of Love...
we both
accept it: we do not believe
that love has something to
do with it
we decide
always we decide what to do with our life
marriage included,
agreements renewed
vows restated,
on the same table
of monotony
we serve love
we slice love and take the bite
we pour love in our glasses
we drink love
we smoke love
we sigh
we converse love in the middle of the night
we are tired of love
and we sleep love
in that bed of monotony
we wake up filled with love
we have love for breakfast
we go to work carrying love inside our pockets
we were love in our faces
there is always that familiarity
in the routine of love
and with so much love sprayed in our bodies
day and night
we forget its meaning
we take it as potable water
we do not notice if it still satisfies our thirst
if it fills our hunger like the food that we prepare and eat
we declare after so many years together
still intact under the roof of marriage
we wear love we do not notice if we are dressed at all
we sleep and we are so tired
love is here and yet we do not mind it anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work - the cycle
Wake, work, home, eat sleep
This cycle keeps on and on
As the time it takes is so long
Wake, work, home, eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
This cycle don’t seem at all to end
All your life in work you seem to spend
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
You start to see your life is slipping away
As people no longer around you stay
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
I’m surprised now I’m even getting time to eat
It would be bliss to stop rest my feet
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
You doing so many hours you feel ill
And you keep doing the cycle still
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
People bosses customers just keep adding more
You start to long for sleep and to snore
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
Something drastic happens the cycle breaks
And that all that it really takes
Wake work home eat sleep no more., ….
135
i know you live a very simple life
i know my friend that
you live a very simple life out there
waking up in the morning
working in the office
buying food in the market
watch tv
sleep early at night
wake up early again
listen to the morning news
a visit in the chapel
work in the office again
a chat with friends
a little drink of cali with them
sometimes
and no broken heart to nourish
like a wound that does not heal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saturday
I'm good to go
And I'm going nowhere fast
It could be worse
It could be taking you there with me
I'm good to go
But it looks like I'm still on my own
I'm good to go
For something golden
Though the motions I've been going through have failed
And I'm coasting on potential towards the wall
At a 100 miles an hour
When I say
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door (yeah)
I can't sleep
In the wake of Saturday (Saturday)
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Pete and I attacked
And lost the story
Oh we promised them decisions
The mass of youthful innocence
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived more than an hour (more than an hour)
When I say
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door (yeah)
I can't sleep
In the wake of Saturday (Saturday)
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door
Me and Pete
In the wake of Saturday
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
Saturday
song performed by by Fall Out Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
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She Is Sleepless, She Is Probing
They read your lines
They perhaps like you
They try to read you
In between
she is sleepless
And she pities you
she is probing
And she writes for you too
And you feel so honored
Comes our arrogance
You say you write
Only for yourself
For art’s sake
You say you cannot
Write for no other
You say you cannot
Stop writing
Your essence is just that
To write for no other
To write or you die
Be kind
Let them read you through the night
Let them follow you
Warn them though
They may have followed
A blind man eking his way through
His darkness
Without even a cane to feel his way.
The Virgin Mary
And Veronica
The crying mother
And the cloth to wipe a bloody face
Don’t stretch further
There is no Christ in me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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