Dispensable...
in this house
dinner is served and
those who live here
can eat even
without me...
i can hear the talks
the spoon and the fork
in their chatter
the soup burps and
the knife pisses
off
no one calls for my
name
and i am just there
watching
defining what is
dispensable figuring out
why is this so?
it is like a movie
when they do not mind me
as they pass through
my body
am i a ghost?
busted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Things Do Not Seem To Be Them After A Careful Seeing
a spoon
and a fork and they seem to appear
with food on a silver platter
when we talk we talk like poets now
after years
a spoon is no longer just a spoon
and neither is the fork
and neither is the food the food that we
eat on the table
and neither is the silver platter a mere
silver platter as it seems to be
for a spoon may be me and i may also be
a tongue and i could be a tongue to your
fork, a protrusion that stabs me like a knife
and the silver platter could be our mind
a garden where we put every seed
and the table and the cloth that covers it
with leaves and flowers
myabe our worlds, covered and uncovered
with some intricate designs
this could be our world now. a world of poems
where everything is a roll of sensitive skin
a mind so fertile with its array of metaphors
and similes and
exaggerations, and these make us so happy
we tiptoe, we choose the word, we equate
every object to a meaning, we dance to a lot
of its nuances, and then we touch and then
we are so silent. we choose not to hurt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Qualms
she had dinner with me
and she talked about some priests and sinners
i think she is refined in some ways
the way she handles her fork and her forte
the rumors of the town
and the rest of those who profess innocence
pretended to pay attention
there were names and places and secret events
and trysts of some characters like they are in the play
of Tennessee Williams
and she carefully assesses the merits of their wounds
their tragedies surely are not hers
she does not eat much but her face swells
her stomach bloating and she burps like she is one kind
of a healthy baby
after the dinner
despite her expensive earrings
we in the house are unanimous in saying
she is the kind of character who must not have
another dinner with us
perhaps she must have breakfast
and we think she deserves to be
with Sophocles
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blood shared
Blood shared / mmm, served on romantic dinner / bo'friend, gil'friend starving as if donated. / thick as they were /in their hands fock n knife were, /in dark like ghost they were /the way they wear /you can't recognise what they were. /frozen like red-frozen yougurt /served as disert /expensiv they were. /crime so high currently /like Zim currency. /thee gil'friend knowing not where the blood from. / at other room / gil'friend sister lying there soulessly / as her blood served on romantic dinner dish. /bo'friend neva introduced to soulsister. /yet the blood they shared
poem by Stephen Raseona
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Objector
In line at lunch I cross my fork and spoon
to ward off complicity--the ordered life
our leaders have offered us. Thin as a knife,
our chance to live depends on such a sign
while others talk and The Pentagon from the moon
is bouncing exact commands: "Forget your faith;
be ready for whatever it takes to win: we face
annihilation unless all citizens get in line."
I bow and cross my fork and spoon: somewhere
other citizens more fearfully bow
in a place terrorized by their kind of oppressive state.
Our signs both mean, "You hostages over there
will never be slaughtered by my act." Our vows
cross: never to kill and call it fate.
poem by William Stafford
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The Last Poem Shall Tinker With Mood And Meaning
silence silenced, and dreams dreamt,
and the speaker that listens upon the beatings of his heart
like a little drum inside his chest.
it is this resounding. this re-echoing
that like a spoon and knife to a porcelain plate
tinkers with the meat and beans,
segregating, and choosing little things
in colors and smell, and swallowing some and
throwing out the rest of what we
like to have inside us. sorrow and pain.
joy and bliss. yours and mine. you and i.
these are categories that we see and feel,
and care and care less and choose.
we tinker with mood. we like always to choose,
and discriminate, the spoon is a spoon and the fork is a fork.
and the knife that cuts,
we are careful enough. There is meaning now.
Blood drops out from your veins, and some beans
turn red. You cull out, what you want to believe.
you leave and carry with you
what is painless. That is as simple as that.
more or less, either/or. write the name of the person
that you love. Burn those that hurt you. Close the door.
Open the window. See the sun. And let always the moon
to kiss you by your window. It does not know what a door is.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Take the Fork
I take the fork,
And select what I choose to eat.
I sample the vegetables...
To then sip on juice or spring water.
I slice the meat with a knife.
I taste for seasoning.
To see if it pleases.
It does...
And I repeat.
I take the fork,
And select what I choose to eat.
I sample the vegetables...
To then sip on juice or spring water.
I slice the meat with a knife.
I taste for seasoning.
To see if it pleases.
It does...
And I repeat.
I might have dessert,
With coffee.
I use a spoon,
If icecream is served.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Because Of The House, There Was Never A Home
because of too much concern for the house
that someone other than yourself may live in there
and steal away what you are keeping there
the furniture and the kettle
the glass and the spoon and the fork
and the spam and sausages and
wheat and bread
because of too much worry for what a house can
be
so much home has been wrecked
so many homes were not even conceived and born
because you want a nice and expensive house
now you don't even have that dream of a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stans Puer ad Mensam
Attend my words, my gentle knave,
And you shall learn from me
How boys at dinner may behave
With due propriety.
Guard well your hands: two things have been
Unfitly used by some;
The trencher for a tambourine,
The table for a drum.
We could not lead a pleasant life,
And 'twould be finished soon,
If peas were eaten with the knife,
And gravy with the spoon.
Eat slowly: only men in rags
And gluttons old in sin
Mistake themselves for carpet bags
And tumble victuals in.
The privy pinch, the whispered tease,
The wild, unseemly yell --
When children do such things as these,
We say, "It is not well."
Endure your mother's timely stare,
Your father's righteous ire,
And do not wriggle on your chair
Like flannel in the fire.
Be silent: you may chatter loud
When you are fully grown,
Surrounded by a silent crowd
Of children of your own.
If you should suddenly feel bored
And much inclined to yawning,
Your little hand will best afford
A modest useful awning.
Think highly of the Cat: and yet
You need not therefore think
That portly strangers like your pet
To share their meat and drink.
The end of dinner comes ere long
When, once more full and free,
You cheerfully may bide the gong
That calls you to your tea.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Stay Peaceful
...and remember this,
You can't eat all the macaroni and cheese!
Someone else may want some too.
While the pan is still warm...
Make sure your fork is ready!
What does this mean?
Who knows!
I don't even like macaroni and cheese like that!
Especially if I have to sit and wait patiently,
For it to be passed!
I can use my fork for something else,
That sits on my plate!
How someone can take spoonful after spoonful,
And not be considerate of others...
Is beyond me!
Knowing there are others watching.
Others who could care less about this activity...
Unfolding with disgust right before their eyes!
I wonder what's going through their greedy minds? !
I wonder if they picture themselves...
Staying in a food line,
Waiting for bread and blocks of government cheese!
Standing on their feet...
Blistering in the Sun.
With their stomachs aching to be fed!
Aching to savor the taste of a hot meal.
I wonder!
Stay peaceful!
Someone has to!
'Look...
Are you going to pass that?
Or are you going to keep it and hoard it,
For yourself?
If there's any left to pass at all!
When you were offered a seat...
It was not intended that you eat all you can eat!
Before the rest of us get a taste of what's been served.
You have got some nerve...
And the guts the size of Wyoming! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Straight Talk
You say youre well and satisfied,
But your body tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you think or what you want.
She says shes truly gratified,
But her voice tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know how you feel or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
He says hes never petrified,
But his eyes tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you need or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
For you and i.
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
Then the world is one.
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Straight Talk
You say youre well and satisfied,
But your body tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you think or what you want.
She says shes truly gratified,
But her voice tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know how you feel or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
He says hes never petrified,
But his eyes tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you need or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
For you and i.
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
Then the world is one.
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baby Likes Burping
You know my baby likes burping
You know my babys kinda nauseating
[burps]
My little vulgar one is so gross
cause when I hold her in my arms so close she goes
[burps]
And out in public its embarrassing
Shell burp at anyone or anything
Shes so revolting and disgusting
And repulsive to me, yeah
My little ladys so obnoxious
Today she walked onto a greyhound bus goin
[burps]
And then a couple hours later
My babys in a crowded elevator
[burps]
That little filthy pig is so obscene
Im really glad she doesnt like beans
Shes so revolting and disgusting
And repulsive to me, yeah
Oh, I wonder whats her trip
Oh, shed better can it quick
Oh, I think Im gonna be sick
If baby does it anymore
I think Ill just pretend like I dont know her
[burps]
You know my baby likes burping
You know my baby is really sickening
[burps]
Thats enough, thats it
[record scratch]
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Busted glass or a never ending snow
Are love was like busted glass,
We never knew each other,
We never had the chance,
Almost like busted glass,
I dash through the falling snow,
Everytime the wind blows,
I shiver,
It feels like busted glass,
Then i know it was you,
Busted glass,
OR,
A never ending snow,
There is no you,
There is no me,
There is only an us,
An us that could have been,
An us that should have been
Your dead but yet you live,
You live in me,
My grandfather you are me,
You are my soul,
You are my yes and no,
We are more then busted glass,
We are the endless snow,
poem by Samantha Guinen
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Sun & Soup
You hold the spoon
over the tureen
watching the soup
drip back with a plop.
You know Francis
will enter soon,
and stand watching
over you, him being
master of the kitchen,
wondering if you had
dipped your finger
and tasted the soup
with your tongue
and say, I hope you
haven’t dipped your finger
in and tasted, it isn’t
the done thing;
and he’d give you
such a look, as if you would,
as if Mother had not
taught you kitchen manners
with its dos and don’ts;
and as you look up
at the high windows,
sunlight leaks through
the coloured glass pane
throwing its golden finger
across the tureen’s hold.
poem by Terry Collett
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Love Is Haunted
when i go to the haunted house
my love is there
but instead
the door was locked
like the ghost is here
but it's not there
the house has her
but i don't know where she is
i looked as many times as i can
then i saw an ghost girl and
she chased me just like in a horror movie
and there she was my love
but she was trapped.
thy found us and we were trying to hide thy
and we escape from the house and i will say this
that love has always been haunted even in a horrorify
house.
poem by Yoam Rafael Sanfielreyes
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Broke Down And Busted
Look at this empty face,
Look at this broken frame
I have been no other place
And you know I've heard no other name.
How can you keep me so?
How can I let it go?
I look the worst that you've ever seen
Is it too much to ask what that's supposed to mean?
You've been playin' around and I played the part
Of a broke-down man with a busted heart.
Reach out a hand and see
What you have made of me
Take a good hard look and then
Close your eyes and
Ask yourself again
How can you keep me so?
How can I let it go?
You know that I would go anywhere
That I could go in my old wheelchair
Though I wouldn't get far 'til it fell apart
I'm a broke down man with a busted heart.
How can you keep me so?
How can I let it go?
You know my state as you hear my song
You'll change your mind if I live that long
Couldn't start it again
Nothing's left to start
But a busted man with a broke-down heart.
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One spoon of soup in need has more value than a pot of soup when we have an abundance of food.
Simple Pleasure
When the dinner was ready, when I was five,
We sat on the mat in the Hall, half awake,
Varieties of food prepared, served and fed,
The daddies were at the center to watch,
We couldn't laugh and chat while eating,
We shouldn't spill the food on the ground,
We have had unwritten rules,
That has to be strictly obeyed,
Men and the children are in the first list,
Then the women of the house eat and taste,
What they cook, there is a pleasure,
In serving the food to the people we love,
Spoon after spoon, ladle after ladle,
Our love is measured many times,
Many thousand times in our dining halls,
Sometimes we feed our grown up children,
Out of the same bowl, for which,
The women of the houses are mocked,
Simple pleasures such as these,
In life make the living meaningful.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I was wrong: So what. todays idiocy
I say that it’s impossible.
You cannot eat soup with chop sticks
Though it is highly probable.
Someone will try to prove he can.
To demonstrate his cleverness
and show he is a better man.
What will it prove should he succeed?
That I’m mistaken in my view.
I will be happy to concede
.
the victory to some buffoon.
Who can eat soup using chop sticks.
I still prefer to use a spoon.
I think soup should be eaten hot
I do not like cold soup a lot.
20/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Miracle Man
Im looking for a miracle man
That tells me no lies
Im looking for a miracle man
Whos not in disguise
I dont know where hell come from
And I dont know where hes been
But its not our jimmy sinner
Because hes so obscene
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Today I saw a miracle man
On tv cryin
Such a hypocritical man
Born again, dying
He dont know where hes goin
But we know just where hes been
It was our little jimmy sinner
On the screen
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man
A devil with a crucifix
Brimstone and fire
He needs another carnal fix
To take him higher and higher
Now jimmy he got busted
With his pants down
Repent ye wretched sinner
Self righteous clown
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
Miracle man got busted
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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