En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Early This Morning

before any coffee
i swear to myself
that i am the man with
a new story to tell

to throw away
all these cliches
and be what
i really am

there is no word yet
nothing is popping up
.................

so back to usual
i write something that
repeats itself
like an echo of
another boredom
form that same
mountainside

to wait for long
is crazy
i know

........

i will have my coffee now
and sip what i must accept

oh, there is nothing new
regret what you have just read.

i think you must go now
and this i must tell you:

write your own regret
do not read me again.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One More Cup Of Coffee

Your breath is sweet
Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky.
Your back is straight, your hair is smooth
On the pillow where you lie.
But i don't sense affection
No gratitude or love
Your loyalty is not to me
But to the stars above.
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore i go
To the valley below.
Your daddy he's an outlaw
And a wanderer by trade
He'll teach you how to pick and choose
And how to throw the blade.
He oversees his kingdom
So no stranger does intrude
His voice it trembles as he calls out
For another plate of food.
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore i go
To the valley below.
Your sister sees the future
Like your mama and yourself.
You've never learned to read or write
There's no books upon your shelf.
And your pleasure knows no limits
Your voice is like a meadowlark
But your heart is like an ocean
Mysterious and dark.
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore i go
To the valley below.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Cup Of Coffee

Your breath is sweet and weak,
Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky.
Your back is straight, your hair is smooth
On the pillow where you lie.
But I don't sense affection
No gratitude or love
Your loyalty is not to me
But to the stars above.
One more cup of coffee for the road
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go
To the valley below.
Your daddy he's an outlaw
And a wanderer by trade
He'll teach you how to pick and choose
And how to throw the blade
He oversees his kingdom
So no stranger does intrude
His voice it trembles as he calls out
For another plate of food
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go
To the valley below
Your sister sees the future
Like your mother and yourself
You've never learned to read or write
There's no books upon your shelf.
But your pleasure knows no limits
And your voice is like a meadowlark
Your heart is like the ocean
Mysterious and dark
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go
To the valley below

song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee!

Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !

poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)

I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So you are back reading this poem again

I see you sitting alone in a coffee shop
Two cups of coffee now, just to pass the hours away
Waiting for nobody
You pretend
Busy with your wireless laptop
Typing some words
Looking at the road beyond the glass walls
Cars keep passing by
Not one is stopping
Shall you pretend some more
That any of those cars is the inspiration
Of your write-up for today?
Okay, you are into advocacies for women
For the underprivileged
For the kids
For those who do not know how to smile
But let me suggest
As you read this poem
Back to my arms again
This time
Take more time with me
In this game
Of loneliness this passion for boredom
Have compassion to both
Of us-lonely souls searching meanings
In laptops in coffeehouses on more
Cups of coffee

I am taking the mug, it is bigger
And its holding effect is a little longer
And some cigars this time.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wing Pages Of The Butterfly

at the nursery
while people
are at purchase
and at transactions
a blue butterfly
comes by
and opens its pages to me
swift and quick
and it says to me:
'Read! Read!
Read my pages! '

'I can’t read, '
I say,
amused
at this brash butterfly

'Read and write!
Read and write
about me,
and all flitting butterflies
Read
and write, you silly! '
it commands

And so I read
and I copy
and these are the words
the words from those
pages
the butterfly
holds up to me

poem by Raj Arumugam
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~ O' Poetry I Read I Write ~

~ O' POETRY I READ I WRITE ~

Ms. Nivedita
UK
29 December,2009.

Poetry ~
I read I read I read
Without asking,
Knowing why?

Poetry ~
I write I write I write
Without asking,
Knowing why?

O' Poetry ~
Read n’ write
To share
Dare n’ bare,
Don’t care
Love to dye
By
Hi and fie.
.
O' Poetry ~
Life I buy
Never sell bye bye
All I’ll do until I die
Lo! I’m no hi-fi.

----

Copyright reserved by the author

poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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A Bitter Coffee... A Sweet Coffee

The age is running and I am still drinking my bitter coffee,
To when the story of this coffee belongs? !
Coffee and chocolate are so deferent in their tastes
But in several times
It happens that they have the same color.
It seems that the similarity of them is the same of features of the fortune reader.
When she gazes the cup of the coffee
But I am not so familiar with chocolate
Even I am not familiar with the talisman countenances of the hex.
I remember that once I asked him to give me a bitter coffee
Yet he has made a permanent bitter one
Each time he brings me the same coffee in the same cup
A question c0mes to my mind and I ask it to myself:
If we do not like the coffee, why we do drink it?
Do you think it is our destiny as my birth story?
I was born without my desire
Thus with each sip of the coffee
The destiny stops me not to tear the chocolate cover
to sweeten my coffee.

poem by Chnar Namq
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We always get up about 5:30, and George gets up and goes in and gets the coffee and brings it to me, and that's been our ritual since we got married. And we read the newspapers in bed and drink coffee for about an hour probably, read our briefing papers.

quote by Laura Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Cup Of Coffee (Valley Below)

Your Breath is sweet, your eyes are like
Two jewels in the sky
Your back is straight your hair is smooth
On the pillow where you lie.
But I don't sense affection
No gratitude or love.
Your loyalty is not me but to the stars above
Chourus :
One more cup of coffee for the road.
One more cup of coffee for I go,
To the valley below.
Your daddy he's an outlaw
And a wanderer by trade.
He'll teach you how to pick an choose
And how to throw the blade.
And he oversees his kingdom
So no stranger does intrude.
His voice it trembles as he calls out
For another plate of food
Chorus
Your sister sees the future
Like your momma and yourself.
You've never learned to read or write
There's no books upon your shelf.
And your pleasure know no limits
Your voice is like a meadow larks.
But your heart is like an ocean
Mysterious and dark.
Chours

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Accidental Insults

Although I write mainly for me.
I choose to share my poetry.
With other poets on the net.
The only thing that I regret.
Sometimes I find I have upset.

Somebody inadvertently.
Albeit unintentionally.
I can only apologise
For bringing teardrops to their eyes.
Though I am taken by surprise.

By what they read into my words.
I often find it quite absurd.
They take offence at what I write.
They see it in a different light.
And choose to take the opposite.

view. Because they fail to understand.
They then dismiss me out of hand.
As they have every right to do.
Because sometimes I've chosen to.
Criticise what they hold true.

I do not mean to cause offence
I offer this in self defence.
The words I write, you filter through
Experiences peculiar to you.
That's why you read them as you do.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Me & U

me and U
WE write poems together
i read yours
and you read mine
hopefully to refine
this craft of mine

me and U
WE need to sip coffee together
on an early morning
and read another poem

me and U
ALONG the shores of sorrow
walking hand in hand
bringing with us
the purity of our intentions

me and U
WE ARE but offerings
me an incense
u the myrrh
or both of us gold together
before that manger

me and U
FRIENDS forever
rowing in a boat
on the river
singing a song
under the stars.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When The Pen Sits Beside A Paper Doing Nothing

there is this time of the day
when you sit and stare and think about nothing
and so the pen merely places itself idly
on the table beside a paper
bland and blank

there is this emptiness that does not even speak for itself
you cannot write it
you cannot also write it off away from you
no one speaks there
except your thoughts

somehow you want to remember love
it smiles at you
and then you spell the word regret

always, and as usual,
it comes late, makes you chew a memory
it is bitter
and of course, like what they do, you spit it out.

to where it lands, a beautiful flower grows

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Flipped A Coin And It Landed On It's Side

Crazy people
who think themselves to be sane
crazy people
all around me....they are everywhere
speaking.....writing......conjecturing
a virtually endless and painful jeremiad
filled with lament and needless regret
that they see and they read.....
but fail to hear the dissenting word
interpreting it all as our fate
while they......deaf from rhetoric
and blind of the truth...
have mistaken me....for one of them
my worst nightmare.....
crazy people thinking that I give a damn
crazy people
maniacal and unglued
look around...do you see them too?
they out number us by many
and most of them vote
drive cars and write poetry
what to do?
we must try to blend in
or risk detection
only when we are no longer mistaken....for one of them
can we be who we are
What lunatics we all must become in order to survive

Copyright (c) 2007 Ted Sheridan

poem by Ted Sheridan
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Kings Cross

The man at the back of the queue was sent
To feel the smack of firm government
Linger by the flyposter, for a fight
Its the same story every night
Ive been hurt and weve been had
You leave home, and you dont go back
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
Only last night I found myself lost
By the station called kings cross
Dead and wounded on either side
You know its only a matter of time
Ive been good and Ive been bad
Ive been guilty of hanging around
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
So I went looking out today
For the one who got away
Murder walking round the block
Ending up in kings cross
Good luck, bad luck waiting in a line
It takes more than the matter of time
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
Someone told me monday, someone told me saturday
Wait until tomorrow and theres still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and theres still no guarantee
And theres still no guarantee
There is still no guarantee

song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Read A Poem I Could Not Write

I READ A POEM I COULD NOT WRITE

I read a Poem I could not write
And then I wrote it down.
I left it long alone
Forgot where it was found.

Somehow it came back to me
In another time,
I had never written it
The Truest poems, not mine.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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From Mighty Pen

It will not only be evaluated
But in all the directions circulated
Each word read and assessed
The thought behind it accepted and chased

Whatever you write
May not lead to fight
But may be preserved
As you have deserved

Write up is perfect
Speak of good act
One should have always dreamed
Thought of and assumed

Write with pen and pencil
But never mention it as nil
It may make final impression
Fine border with embroidery relation

So to speak less and do more
Some thoughts are needed therefore
To write and leave it for others
To think, act or otherwise bother

Write, write and write
That shall ignite
Your hidden talent
To make solid movement

Readers may not appreciate quickly
But may accept views happily
As it has come from a mighty pen
At a time when needed from noble man

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Poem For Those Who Are Sad

did Octavio say that happiness
and charm are cliches?
did he really mean that he
shall write about those who
labor in pain
about those who stopped
smiling because of the
harsh rain
about those who hide
because of the coming storm?

he could be right
not writing about the cliches of
happy days

for they have all enough
that make the sweet syrups
of their eating lives

let me write a poem for those
who are sad
for those who have less

let me write about the opening
of a flower
about the butterflies moving
out from their cocoons

let me write about the
end of the bitter days
for they have less and now

they may have more
through my lines

let me write about the
rising of the sun
the waking up of the boy
from his sleep
and the beginning
of his play on the yard
with his bike

let me write more
about what i really like...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dog Coffee

perpetrating counter-culture she is walking through the park
first light ugly and more muscular than the dark
pushing poems at the urban silence
drawing portraits of the passers-by
sitting on the curb
combining traffic sounds
getting dirty looks and dirty jeans
on the dirty ground
she says I can't figure out what kind of life this is
comedy or tragedy I just know it's show biz
and what if I don't agree
with the lines I have to read
they don't pay me enough
the way I see it

freedom and democracy
that's the word from washington every day
the americat's asleep
with warm milk and cliches
and people are expendable along the way
your dollar is dependable
what more can we say
would you like some dog coffee
it's all that we've got
you can have some
you can have not
would you like some dog coffee
it's all that we've got
we're taking care of big business
and meanwhile some of the beans rot

song performed by by Ani DiFranco from Ani DiFranco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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