Her decision
when she discovered that
she had colon cancer
stage 2, she at first had
the usual denial,
'no this cannot be true
for i don't smoke
neither did i eat meat
i did not have
a stressful life' she says.
the discharges of blood
proves her otherwise
her loss of weight
and low red blood cell count
convince her
about this reality
' i accepted this
matter and i did not
want to do anything anymore' she resolves,
'anyway, i am already
68, and had my life
what is the use of
an extension' she continues
on her plate is the fried chicken
a slice of roasted pig,
for her desert a glass of ice cream
and leche flan
all that the doctor says
she must not eat
she eats them now
i guess, i know what she means.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Cancer Patient....
this is the reality of
man losing his hair of a woman losing her breasts
this is the sadness of
having to exist and no longer benefiting about the promises of
living
they say this is just a trial
of that long and lasting error
one hopes after every chemotherapy
in each vomit
one sticks to life after every harsh radiation
clinging to every remaining healthy flesh
each cell
rebelling upon another
the doctor says
now madam you are cancer free
but it will only be for months
and so there is another party with friends
and supportive members of your family
only to wake up in the morning
with blood oozing
flooding your linens
there will be relapses
and those cancer cells that did not die
comes again
like a warrior wounded
now stronger than ever
given the expensive choices
of money
and emotions
i guess, you may call me cruel,
the correct and rightful option
is merely to surrender
it is only the body that dies
the soul perfect as usual flies again heeding for its real home....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When There Is Nothing More To Be Done...
got a call and she is dying,
whatever that means
dying to see me
or dying to die
it does not matter to me anymore
now that i have burned all the bridges
and made holes of those wooden boats
and broke all the paddles
what then is going to be done
as a matter of
last resort to save what she thinks
is still valuable
inside our hearts
we are like those burned houses
early dawn with nothing saved
we see all the ashes and some smoke
still clinging on the charred pieces
of furniture and beams
of the past
'there is nothing anymore'
and i have not opted for those memorized prayers
those usual offerings of
chicken blood and pork
or the newly hatched egg with a squeaking chick
hoping that perhaps someday
the root cause shall be known
how the tree falls off and how the worms
begin their feasts
on our own stupidities.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Take My Life
I think that we've come to under-estimate the phrase
Take my life
It carries so much weight?
Take my life
It means kill me
Take all that I have
Take my life
It means everything I am, everything I was, everything I will be
It's all yours
Take my life
It means surrender
Absolute surrender
Take my life
It means it's honestly not yours anymore
That you can't make your own decision anymore
Because it's not yours to live for yourself
Take my life
It's the strongest phrase I think we use
yet it's severly underrated
Take my life
We sing it in songs and then forget what we said
Live like we always did
Take my life
Take my life
I want to mean it for real
I'm really surrendering
Take my life
I'll be the one to lay it down
I finally know Jesus what I mean when I say
Take my life
poem by David Knox
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Courting Death
Slice me, knife, drain my blood.
Please harm me, it feels good.
Cut my arms, my veins, too.
And I will hunt for blood with you,
We’re courting death in the night.
Faint from blood loss at morning light.
In daytime I’ll escape your arms,
You’ll rest until I’m nice and warm.
Then we’ll go cold, just you and me,
We’ll die together, wait and see.
Never again lonely or even blue,
Because life will be over for me and you.
poem by Lenore Lee
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For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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52
father kills the black chicken
and marks a cross of blood
on the temple of the birthday celebrant
he claims life is a matter of sacrifice
a chicken dressed for something
The blood from the neck
of the chicken gushes forth
there is silence in this
bloody ritual
between father and son
inside both of them they
hold that the spirits understand
how they must be appeased
from all ills and bad luck
the son must be protected
a father then washes the knife
that killed the black chicken
he is ready to kill someday
somehow when
another human being just in case
kills a son, that brute that base.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dressed Chicken
father kills the black chicken
and marks a cross of blood
on the temple of the birthday celebrant
he claims life is a matter of sacrifice
a chicken dressed for something
The blood from the neck
of the chicken gushes forth
there is silence in this
bloody ritual
between father and son
inside both of them they
hold that the spirits understand
how they must be appeased
from all ills and bad luck
the son must be protected
a father then washes the knife
that killed the black chicken
he is ready to kill someday
somehow when
another human being just in case
kills a son, that brute that base.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Old Maid's Birthday
my friend from the mountains
of Tabon celebrates her birthday tomorrow
and i sent her my advance greetings
she says she has no money
and she has no man
and she is sick
and she is tired
and she is depressed.
and i tell her
please come to our house
catch the chicken
and cook it
and put some blood on your forehead
so that the bad luck
may transfer to the chicken
as a matter of belief
she refuses the celebration
i guess
what is she as an old maid for?
i guess the word is
hopelessness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Preferred Distractions
If you have recently discovered,
You have become one of many people...
Who have awakened to ask,
'What is going on? '
And you are dismayed and distraught by it?
Why concern yourself with the facts of life now?
Crawl back into your shell.
Denial hasn't kept you from redecorating.
And those in denial always find a way,
To address their beliefs to keep themselves...
In preferred distractions to attract whatever it is,
They stubbornly keep intact as a reality kept protected.
And who has the right to say,
A reality that affects the lives of everyone...
Is a reality everyone 'should' accept and MUST face?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Envision A Time When We Are Poor
once
out of my loneliness
i sit and envision a moment when we are poor
and desolate and we decide to go together for a lunch date
and we order
what we really want despite the fact that we fear we cannot afford it
yet we do not mind what happens next
i have the best chicken curry and jasmine rice and green tea
and you have the four seasons-juice
and beef steak & mashed potatoes for the main course
and leche flan for dessert
and we talk on some matters of the heart
about the stillness of time
and the unchanging mind and we begin to escape the poverty
of the hands and the feet &
the reality of us
wrinkled and weak
and we laugh and we look at each other and we confirm
the power of love.
love wins always
we agree
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sex is thicker than blood.
You can scold the child;
You can scold the parent.
They can be taken for granted
As they are bonded by blood.
But not the wife, who is bonded
To you only by contract.
You may bear the loss of the child;
You may bear the loss of parents.
They are bonded by blood though.
But the loss of your wife is severe
As she is a part of your life
And is the sanctum of your exclusive.
She has mortgaged to you all.
She has protected you as a whole.
She has been all the time servile.
She is the earth to recline on.
She is not bonded to you by blood
But gravitated by more than blood.
Blood is thicker than water.
Sex is thicker than blood.
07.052001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Herion (WNET TV, 1966)
I don't know just where I'm going
But I'm gonna try for the kingdom if I can
'Cause it makes me feel like I'm a man
When I put a spike into my vein
Then I tell you things aren't quite the same
When I'm rushing on my run
And I feel just like Jesus' son
And I guess that I just don't know
And I guess that I just don't know
I have made the big decision
I'm gonna try to nullify my life
'Cause when the blood begins to flow
When it shoots up the dropper's neck
When I'm closing in on death
And you can't help me, not you guys
Or all you sweet girls with all your sweet talk
You can all go take a walk
And I guess I just don't know
And I guess that I just don't know
I wish that I was born a thousand years ago
I wish that I'd sailed the darkened seas
On a great big clipper ship
Going from this land here to that
On a sailor's suit and cap
Away from the big city
Where a man cannot be free
Of all the evils of this town
And of himself and those around
Oh, and I guess that I just don't know
Oh, and I guess that I just don't know
Heroin, be the death of me
Heroin, it's my wife and it's my life, ha-ha
Because a mainer to my vein
Leads to a center in my head
And then I'm better off than dead
Because when the smack begins to flow
I really don't care anymore
About all the Jim-Jims in this town
And all the politicians making crazy sounds
And everybody putting everybody else down
And all the dead bodies piled up in mounds
'Cause when the smack begins to flow
Then I really don't care anymore
Ah, when that heroin is in my blood
And the blood
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Be Put Down
Some say I’m over weight- while some say I’m fat.
I say I’m big boned - my doctor told me that.
What does weight matter? - does it mean I can’t love?
I was made this way - by GOD up above.
My brother is tall and thin- they say he’s bones and skin.
Why does weight matter?
Can any of us ever win!
They say when we walk down the street
We look like ABBOTT and COSTELLO
He looks like a bamboo stick
While I look like a cello.
We’ve learned how to accept the jeers
And to control our rages and emotions
For “IN GOD” we put our devotion.
Love lives in any size bodies!
Big or small, short or tall
GOD has given love to all.
Why do people love to criticize and find
Fault with every one, when they themselves
Have faults, which can not be undone.
When I was growing up, there was a saying
For both fat and thin, and no matter
which way you put it
Both sides would always win.
They would say: the closer the meat to the bone the sweeter it is
And: the more the meat, the better the treat.
So to all you criticizers! We will not be put down.
For you are the one
who walks with the heavy crown.
poem by Louis Rams
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War Means
War Means death
War Means destruction
War Means fire
War Means bombing
War Means sorrow
War Means turmoil
War Means tears
War Means guns
War Means blood
War Means confusion
War Means explosions
War Means mutilation
War Means sickness
War Means killing
War Means occupation
War Means loss
And lots more
But after one side
Or the other side
Has finally had enough
And lays down their arms
To surrender and give up
War Means Peace
poem by Mrunal Nandankar
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War Means
War Means death
War Means destruction
War Means fire
War Means bombing
War Means sorrow
War Means turmoil
War Means tears
War Means guns
War Means blood
War Means confusion
War Means explosions
War Means mutilation
War Means sickness
War Means killing
War Means occupation
War Means loss
And lots more
But after one side
Or the other side
Has finally had enough
And lays down their arms
To surrender and give up
War Means Peace
poem by Brie Carter
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Blood Red Roses
Blood red
The roses she'd
Always received
Blood red
Blood red
The sole chroma
Of her world
Blood red
Blood red
Spurted out from
His thorn-like barbs
Blood red
Blood red
Her anguished life
Assiduous
Blood red
Blood red
Her favorite
Shade of roses
Blood red
poem by Alice Vedral Rivera
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Chicken and Other Foods
She is coming home tonight, been away for two days.
Bought her, what she likes… a well roasted chicken.
On the farm where I was brought up, old hens that
didn’t lay eggs as before had heads chopped off and
ended up in the pot. Incredible tough meat had to boil
it for hours. Never liked the smell in a chicken coop,
I think concentration camps must have stunk like that
too many bodies in small rooms and no escape.
The coop’s capo wasn’t safe either, when it didn’t
perform as before, off with its head. When she enjoys
her roasted chicken with lemon sauce I will eat a burger,
since it doesn’t look remotely like a dead animal and as
I have never seen a dead cow, only milked them every
morning at five, it will taste ok with Italian salad.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Blood Of Jesus
Every minute, every hour,
The blood of Jesus is the power,
It's the power over sickness and disease,
It's the power that sets you free.
The blood of Jesus will turn your life around,
In your daily life peace will abound,
It will set you free from anxiety,
Through Jesus' blood you will have a victory.
Plead the blood of Jesus without delay,
Pour the blood over bad circumstances today,
Try the blood of Jesus and you will see,
The blood of Jesus means victory.
poem by Elizabeth Skerencak
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Just Business
you say the moral implications
dont matter anymore;
it's all about the money,
it's 'just business'...
blood for oil, and
it doenst matter whose blood
- as long as it's not your own!
what happened to the sanctity
of human life...
if the skin color is different,
the language different,
the religion different...
do you sleep better at night?
'they're poor, they have nothing
to live for anyway...'
'just business'...
well, what goes around
eventually comes around...
what happens when you're
the one with the begging bowl?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Heroin
(reed)
I dont know just where Im going
But Im gonna try for the kingdom, if I can
cause it makes me feel like Im a man
When I put a spike into my vein
And Ill tell ya, things arent quite the same
When Im rushing on my run
And I feel just like jesus son
And I guess that I just dont know
And I guess that I just dont know
I have made the big decision
Im gonna try to nullify my life
cause when the blood begins to flow
When it shoots up the droppers neck
When Im closing in on death
And you cant help me not, you guys
And all you sweet girls with all your sweet silly talk
You can all go take a walk
And I guess that I just dont know
And I guess that I just dont know
I wish that I was born a thousand years ago
I wish that Id sail the darkened seas
On a great big clipper ship
Going from this land here to that
In a sailors suit and cap
Away from the big city
Where a man can not be free
Of all of the evils of this town
And of himself, and those around
Oh, and I guess that I just dont know
Oh, and I guess that I just dont know
Heroin, be the death of me
Heroin, its my wife and its my life
Because a mainer to my vein
Leads to a center in my head
And then Im better off and dead
Because when the smack begins to flow
I really dont care anymore
About all the jim-jims in this town
And all the politicians makin crazy sounds
And everybody puttin everybody else down
And all the dead bodies piled up in mounds
cause when the smack begins to flow
Then I really dont care anymore
Ah, when the heroin is in my blood
And that blood is in my head
Then thank God that Im as good as dead
Then thank your God that Im not aware
And thank God that I just dont care
And I guess I just dont know
And I guess I just dont know
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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