En.Citatepedia^®.ro

His Father's Death...

that early morning before eating
breakfast his father asks for a glass of water
his chest is in pain
and the world closes out for him

Marcelino Sr.
R.I.P.
he farmed his way till death....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Christmas Morning

Listen to the children sing
Watch them dancing all around the Christmas tree
Waiting for the opening
Early Christmas morning

All around the world is sleeping
Little children there's no peeping
Wait and see what Santa's bringing
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning

Icicles and breakfast cakes
Friends and family we will celebrate
Sounds that joy and laughter make
Early Christmas morning

All around and far off places
Angels waken smiling faces
Wrapping us with love and graces
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper from Merry Christmas... Have A Nice Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early In The Morning

Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Agrarian Unrest....

my father is a landlord.
He sent me to a big university in the city.
I studied philosophy.

The university taught me about equality.
Compassion. We studied existentialism
The poverty of the masses.
The agrarian unrest.
The essence of man
The quality of life
Justifications of living
Explanations of death
After life.

I wrote a class report about a child who ate
only a handful of rice for breakfast
plus brown sugar as viand
and then a glass of water for his thirst
from the nearby river
and then he was left in the house
as his father works in the field
and his mother
sells vegetables in the market.

When i left the child, The
heavy silence of the world fell upon my shoulder.

One day father took me for a vacation in our land.
There are mountains. Lots of trees.
A beautiful place.

There is a house there
Dilapidated. A tenant lives there
There is a hungry child.
Drought. Long hot days.

I pity the poor condition. But i no longer ask for the cause.
Then the tenant asks me if i can give him land.
Or a part of father's land.

I have no answer.
I could have told him, I do not own anything,
I do not live here
and father is still alive...

And wants me to be firm and cruel.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Glass Of Water Please

and so the story wants to end itself with a
glass of water.

those who cry after always need
a glass of water.

those whose hearts are broken
those who sob
those who close the window of the niche
those who have nightmares
those who wake up at 3 o'clock in the morning
those who sit on bed and cannot sleep back
always go to the kitchen
open the refrigerator
get a glass and splash
a cold glass of water

this time, i am asking for a glass of water
for i could be
all of the above or you could be one of those
i have described

but who knows we are not one of those
who knows
we are but just anyone who is normally thirsty
and with nothing to ask
simply ask
for a glass of cold water.

and cheerfully, we do not forget to say
please....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Friend To A Friend Asking For A Favor

a friend finds himself in a mess
with himself, a room filled with waste papers
and shit, he got a little dog to care but he is always
drunk somehow, beer bottles under the bed,
he has not been brushing his teeth
or shaving is not a part of his vocabulary,
goes in another friend's house,
about five meters away from his
and takes a hitch
for lunch, a glass of water will do him
for the night till morning,
on diet for poverty, the world is too dusty
for him, but he does not bother wetting
the plants with water,
there is no water anyway, he has not paid his bills,
there is one thing missing in his life
and he admits it when he
for the last nth time
asks his friend
to help him find back his

dream.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Mornin'

Early mornin'
All right, I was out real late last night
Got a little messy
Early morning
Can't be like that anymore, oh
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Wanna talk to
When he walked up someone grabbed him
But I liked him to come here
Kinda cool
Baby, we can make plans
Where ya live
Does your mama live there
We can hook up at the hotel
Hands down so
I told him, let's go
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Oh, in love
So I approached him
We gotta give him his friends
There's something bout him that show
So I said, what the hell
Let's go
Got up, got on the dance floor
Hooked up with a guy named Joe
When the music was fast and slow
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, b

song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father

Father, blessed father,
Its morning again.
I give you, father, myself, father,
Continue your plan.
I know together we can climb mountains in the sky.
No one can stop us when Im standing by your side.
Troubles knocking here again;
Ill tell him jesus has me by his hand.
Hell walk me through.
Father, loving father,
Create in me
A pure love, father, your love, father,
Instill it in me.
I remember the nights Ive cried for you;
Now I only have to die for you;
Thank you, lord, youve made it clear just for me.
I see the light;
Its burning out the night.
Oh, father,
Its morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For The Happy Housemaid...

early morning
the housemaid turns on the radio
in full volume that the
neighbors know that
she is already awake
and cooking breakfast

the house smells fried
egg and bacon and
steamed rice

when i come out my room
she smiles and
turns off the radio and
says that breakfast is
ready

only to be told that
no one likes to eat breakfast

(unlike the two the housemaid
likes it much to eat all these matters
alone by herself,
she is attuned like a loud radio
early morning
and she does not mind what
the housemaids' neighbors say)

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Baby, I Love You

Broken glass littered the floor
I stared at the maroon pool
Glass boats floating about
Numb
For once
I didn’t feel the pain
The pain of losing you
The pain of ending you
The pain of breaking you
The pain of loneliness
A slight blur settled
Among my thoughts
The pretty glass boats
Fascinate me
Baby, I don’t know how
I don’t know why
But somehow
I don’t need you
I want you
You’re a forgotten letter
And just before
The curtain closes
The darkness settles
Your beautiful eyes
Remind me
I can’t escape the pain
It’s always there
And one more thing-
Baby, I love you

poem by Jennifer Sollmann
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My Father, With His Arthritic Hands

My father, with his arthritic hands
Closes his door, picks up the bow
Tucks the bit under his chin
Tunes it real low
My father can compete with the world's best bands
My father plays the violin.

His eyes are dim but the notes are clear
His hearing is faulty but we can hear
The songs that pour out from within
People outside stop to listen
When my father plays the violin.

He opens up another world
Far from stress and pain
I become a child again
As without a word
He picks up the bow, tunes it real low
My father plays the violin.

My father with his arthritic hands
Holds a magnifying glass to his eyes to read
He sits out there under the clear blue skies
Now that he can hardly walk
(Luckily my sisters are there when he needs to talk) .
And when its dusk and he enters within
Then with his arthritic hands
Father picks up his violin.

poem by Rani Turton
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Happiness

So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Porridge At The Pub

I had my breakfast this morning at a pub in our town,
But my experience there left my face with a massive frown.
I ordered some porridge, topped with banana and honey,
But, despite it being cheap, it was not worth the money.

With me, the bowlful of porridge was not a massive hit,
Because I found eating it, was like eating a bowlful of grit.
The oats and milk, I found, were far from very well mixed:
Though I'm sure this is a problem that can be easily fixed.

On top of that, I thought the porridge tasted a little bit weird,
So, by me, my bowlful of porridge didn't get totally cleared.
About my breakfast experience, I did not like to complain,
But I won't be eating porridge at that particular pub again.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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In Prayer to You

Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.

Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.

Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
For all that you've done for me.

In the early morning hours,
When I arise to greet the Sun...
I feel blessed and prepared,
With such gratefulness...
In prayer to You.
This I must do!

And when noon approaches...
No matter what I have done,
Before that time comes...
That may create a disturbance,
I did not invite nor did I make.
I find time to show it is You I appreciate.
In prayer to You.
This I must do!

Whether or not...
Thunder storms roar,
Or rain drops fall to pitter and pat.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.

And at the oncoming of Sunset...
Not one moment do I forget,
The power of Your presence...
That showers the blessings,
From You I get!

Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
In prayer to You.
This I must do!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Water.

Water drips off my body
Red water
Black water
Water that looks like glass as it rolls down my face

Stop the pain
Stop the water
Stop the liquid pouring from my body

Feel the pain
Breathe it in
Taste the hurt flowing
Flowing
Ever so smoothly
Ever so beautifully

Red water
Black water
Water that looks like glass and cuts like a knife

Red water
Looking so pretty
Glistening in the light

Black water
Staining my soul
Streaking my face
Making my pain visible

Water that looks like glass
Falls on my body
Seeps through my pores
I feel nothing inside

So breathe it in
Feel the pain
Let it hurt
And let it heal
Cuz you'll be dead soon enough.

April 5 2010
Copyright by Elaine Cole 2010

poem by Elaine Eatsbabies
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Rain Water

Morning of 21st, I am 34.
The rain outside my window drizzles a rhythm of February dawn.

Rain water flows from the early morning sane—
Rain water washes the yesterday’s pain.

Rain water and I have loved you dear—
Rain water and you come close to me near.

Rain water taps my fingertips, and I love you more than yearning—
Rain water runs deeper into our skins of longing.

Morning of 21st, I am happier.
The rain won’t stop until I melt as a better person.

(written on February 21,2008 Marikina City, Philippines)

poem by Chester Maynes
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My unconditional love

There is no one greater than my father in my eyes
He calls me in the morning
Just to tell me that he was dreaming about me
And woke to pray for me

There is no one caring like my father in my life
He calls me during the day
Just to tell me that he is doing nothing
But thinking of me

There is no mother comparable to my father
The man took care of me from birth
Raised me with no woman by his side
Told me about the menstrual stage
And even knows the type of tampons I use

There is no woman comparable to my father
He cooks for me every meal
Breakfast, lunch and dinner
He cleans the house
Whilst I write poems about how great he is
He is my star and my bling-bling
He is my divine caramel ornament
And the on who sometimes does my laundry

There is no rock like my father
He told me I was going to get hurt in life
But never even once failed to support my decisions
He comforts me when I cry
He never withdraws information from me even about sex

There is no stone like my father
He protects and gives me elements of life
Wakes up at twelve midnight to rub my chest
When flu and fever befriend me
He wakes up at three in the morning
Just to put his hand on my head
And pray for me

He is my father and my only hope
My father is my mother, the one I cry to at all time
He never gets tired or deaf because of my screams
I could never find any strong human love like his
So the man is my father it shows

poem by Mitta Xinindlu
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Pork Fried-Rice

Pork fried-rice,
Eating your way to death!
And from Mattithyah to Revelation.

The specimen,
Of a tale and a tail!
But upon the two wings of a great eagle i will fly away.

Of the sale of a sail and,
Of the life under a microscope;
You are eating your way to death.

A bale of a bail and the eating of pork,
But heaven and earth will pass away and the laws will still stand!
And it will be like a puzzle to you all.

Essau hated Yaaqob like the pale of a pain but,
With your rhythmic contractions and your tympanitic abdomen;
So come out of this world and live for the truth only.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Mark R. Slaughter

Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty

And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation

Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy

They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes

I rot
(They fade)

To be the plant
(They'll water)

I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter

Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind

That I of soul
Remain eternal

Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot

Flirts like a ballerina

STOPS

Wonders of the world

My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future

I'll wait
For his appraisal

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012

A Trail of Death

death death death death death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death death death death death
death death death death death death death death death death death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I Stare Death in the Eyes

Every morning I wake up
To stare death in the eyes
Thinking of everyone
I put the gun away
I walk away from the eyes of death
I got through the pain everyday
Not because it happens
Because it happened
Staring death in the eyes
Makes me understand why
Slitting wrist
Buck shots to the head
Eating bullets
Become a reality
Rather than imaginary
Staring death in the eyes
Makes me more comfy
With death
To myself
To end life
Is not the way
Because of pain and others
Are why I live today
I stared death in the eyes…
And I survive to live another day

poem by Thomas Conner
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Misty River

This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River

poem by Aldo Kraas
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