I AM THE MOST ordinary PERSON THAT YOU MEET on the street
Reading my poems, my essays, my comments, my biography
She thinks
I am a manic
Depressive
one infested
with a bipolar
personality
neurotic
to the
utmost
psychotic
insane crazy lost bewildered out of this world
out of touch in limbo unleashed unsheathed
out of touch out of this world
o my god
o my!
She is wrong
Completely wrong
I am the most normal, ordinary person that she can meet
on the street
In her normal life
I work in an office
With a coat and tie
My hair is shiny
With gel
My hands soft
With ease and comfort
I smell perfume
My nails are clean
You cannot even tell
That these are the fingers
That compose
The hand that composed
Those poems
Political, sadistic, masochistic
Love, libido, desire
Nature, carabaos, birds
Violence, war
Irony, paradox
Rape, murder
Food and shit
White sands
And long long vacations
I have the perfect smile
The male version of mona lisa
I have the poise of
David not Goliath
And you wonder this man is not the poet in the poems that he
Writes
I expect him to have
The looks of a madman
Scattered hair
Looking shit
Foul shit
Emaciated
Eyes with bags
Insomniac
Hot tempered
Oh my God
I have the face of angel today
And the people always tell me
I am God’s gift to them
On this I agree
Indeed I am no madman
I am a trance in that poem
I am the medium of the higher voice
I am simply an instrument
And as I write every word
I know nothing
I am not responsible for every word in my brain
I am a tool
I am a knife
I am a gun
I am a chewing gum
I am a boat
I am a motorbike
I am simply the stenographer for every word that I write
For I am merely a voice
From those who cannot speak
I am merely the messenger
For those who are souls
I am just a body
To their wisdom
I speak
What I have is only the courage to be an instrument
When all of them are gone
I am dumb
I am myself
I am the most normal person that you meet
In fact, indeed, in truth,
I am just a nobody.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Soap
you wish i were true
to every word i wrote in my poems
like sadness
that i must be sad when my poems
talk about sadness
like separation and disgust and pain
that i must suffer
with the poems i write that i must have despair
and pain too
and disgust
for every word of disgust written in every word
in every line
how cruel of you
how cruel of truth
how can i justify my death when i speak only of death
and in the very poem
where i write the word
death
there is soap
there is this box of untruths in pandora and when i open it
they must spread and you may refuse to believe
me again
but it would be very cruel of you
to make these poems
all these poems be my life my only life
and lived
and day by day lived in accordance with the
mouths of these poems
empathy
is the word, it is like i am putting my feet in another person's
shoes
then i write, and i could have written about this word: happiness
joy, bliss
ecstasy, light, and amazing glory
i choose not to,
i think, i have too much of it, and i do not share it for now
there is no necessity
and i cannot really help
with so much loneliness and sadness out there
with them i stretch my hands to hold them and feel them
and they all become
myself. it is not soap then, and there are no bubbles in the skies
there is no child playing amazed by the bubbles that burst and by the
bubbles that
are so abundant.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It's Not Easy Being The Love Poet
'The Love Poet' that's what they call me
I admit it's flattering being the one and only
Other poets write love poems I will concede
But none with the emotion of mine, none indeed
But being the love poet has it's price
Everyone expects my work to be happy, be nice
If I ever feel lousy I can't write it down
Because reading it might cause the audience to frown
I'm not always Happy Harry I will admit
Every now and the, I really feel like shit
Depression a remnant of the life I left behind
Has found me again and has it's grip on my mind
But sad or not, I've a reputation to uphold
I write poetry that's warm and not cold
Push depression aside begin a new love poem
2nd draft I write on my way home
Every now and then, I will read a sad one
Which leads to another, what have I begun?
I want to make people smile not cry
And here I am reading qbout how I want to die
Even love poets have their bad days
Finding out today was the end of always
Without her, love poems just don't seem right
Neighbors hear you crying, long into the night
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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Multitasking, The Music And The Poem And Nothing
as i write this poem i am downloading music
copying them from the cd to
Windows Media Player for all these Bossa Nova Experience
Call me, A certain Sadness, The Trouble with Hello
The Shadow of Your Smile, Fly Me To the Moon,
NighT aND dAY, hEY lOOK aT tHE sun, HeRE'S a RAiny Day,
Put a LIttle Love Away,
Where is Love?
it takes time to choose the music to load and to check
if everything is proper and so
i also take a glance at poems
the First Fifty Famous Poems of this World
read some again
reviewing how does each word feel and fall and rebound in my
heart
i write some, well, i am not that really serious about what to write
i just write what comes to my head and when i think i ended
the making of this poem
i read what others write, not really admiring their wisdom
or style or what they write there as some trash
garbage, but just the same to while my hours away doing other things
i still read them, building this interest to know what this person who claims to
be a poet is driving at
some nails for hard wood, sounding like carpentry
well, i don't really believe that poetry can change this world
my world
of multitasking, hopping from one task to another, like
island hopping with my friends in this archepielago
from one white sand to another and taking some beers and
juices
these juices of the mind and of the body, lustily flowing from my thighs
as i wipe them and learn to live a pure life
from the perspective of the Holy Pope, oh well, i don't judge other people
and i simply forgive them
like myself, i am not so hard about myself, not even on poetry
since this is just fun
clean fun, writing
opps, another cd to copy now,
i will have
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, Paper Mache, Make it Easy on Yourself,
vINCENT, . Breaking Up is Hard with You, All the THINGS you ARe,
LIGHT My FIRE, Love is STRONGER far than WE
and CHopin and bEETHOVEN, AND iL dIVO
AND
AND OF course,
I honestly lOVE you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Commenting (Please Read)
This poem is dedicated to a very dear friend in Canada.
Melvina Germain.
The first person who left a heart prints on my work almost a year and a half ago. Mel, a million thanks from me.
Love and Hugs.
David xxxx
Some people read your work
and then pass on their way,
never leaving a comment
whether they liked it or not.
For any writer good or bad,
unless someone makes a comment on your work,
you feel left out in the cold.
For those who think that comments do not help,
let me tell you what comments have done for me.
For six or seven years I had given up writing,
I swore I would never lift my pen again.
Then in January 2007,
I posted a few old poems on a poetry site.
I was confused and lost at the time.
Never though for one moment
anyone would want to read my humble work.
I was wrong.
Through the comments I received,
I started writing again.
Since the 19th January 2007 to today the 14th June 2008
I have written 1132 poems, a 80,000 word novel,
collaborated on over 20 poems
with two young ladies half a world away from me
and published my first book of poetry.
For under a year and a half
that is not a bad record
and it happened through the encouragement in comments.
So the next time you read someone work
and there is a space for a comment,
leave one please.
Those little heart prints can change someone’s life
and encourage them on to do better things.
Your comment does not have to be lengthy,
just a word or two will do.
Remember it is good to help someone
and by leaving a comment,
that is just what you will do.
I always leave a comment on everything I read
knowing how others comments have helped me.
14 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Young Poets
You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
Speak with respect now, for jungles and streams,
Speak for all wildlife and dream giant dreams.
Speak with great courage, speak up and speak out,
Write with a whisper or write with a SHOUT!
Stand up young poets for clean air and rivers,
Free verse or lyric; your message delivers...
Truth to the future citizens of earth,
Speak of your freedom your friends and self worth.
Speak for tomorrow and though you're still young,
Speak for the Forest, your pen is her tongue.
The world waits to hear your songs still unsung
Words posses power, you can write the wrongs
Teach us and lead us with Poems and with songs.
Speak now for nature, for trees and for birds,
Defenders of Earth choose carefullly your words!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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In This World Of Infinite Words
IN THIS WORLD OF INFINITE WORDS
In this world of infinite words
So many poems have already been written,
Infinite poems in infinite words-
Therefore any new poem simply seems to cry out its own non- necessity-
Yet in a word in a voice
A whole world can be born and transformed-
A new poem a real poem
Can make us forget all the others
And make all the others live through it-
Yet who in this world of infinite words
Can write this poem?
And when will the next set of strangers names come
To show me that my words are nothing?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sometimes You Wish Someone Will Know The Greatness Of A Poem
sometimes as you write a hundred or more poems
you wish someone with taste
the one without which nothing will be called 'poetic'
shall read you and understand the greatness of your
words and style,
someone with a long black hair
smooth skin and possessing that intellectual flare
reads one of your poems and says
' i like this and i shall keep this
did you really write this? '
and you are so flattered that you forget that all the while
on the 5,000th poem
you have been writing all about yourself
on some pain of rejection
that love interest that never responded
that one so beautiful and yet had never laid her eyes on you.
and then, you smile, after all on that poem
inside those images, you appear to be lovable
and she, is never one ordinary fan.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poet’s Prayer
Lord forgive me
That I have chosen to become a poet
Forgive me for what I write
The poems of my life
Grant me such devotion
To write the poems that I love
Grant me the love of poetry
That must not distract me
From tenderness
Make my desire last long
Make my disillusion short
Uproot from me these impure desires
From those poems that trouble me
Let not some images confuse me
Let not some metaphors numb me
Let not my dullness sadden me
Let your radiance descend upon
The modesty of my poems
As you once gave radiance
To the prophets who cannot speak
For themselves
Let me be a strong poet
Able to love and defend
the poems for the
women and children and land
Grant me the talent to make
The poems that they may still
Recite and remember
Even when I am gone
In my weakness as a poet
Make me strong
To scorn the poems that are not pure
To shy away from the fires
And flames that do not light
The lives of other men
And women too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Music is for people. The word 'pop' is simply short for popular. It means that people like it. I'm just a normal jerk who happens to make music. As long as my brain and fingers work, I'm cool.
quote by Eddie Van Halen
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Phat
The word 'fat' is a term,
That 'skinny people' use,
Because they don't know what else to say,
When they see a 'fat person.'
No one has to be so rude about it,
When they see a 'fat person' eating ice cream,
Or sitting around watching others,
But some 'skinny people' don't understand to just dropp a conversation.
The word 'rude' is what 'fat people' use when someone makes fun of them,
'Fat people' are all over the world,
And yet - 'skinny people' don't want to accept the fact that 'fat people' are in this cruel world,
So some 'skinny people' have to act like they're all that and be mean to others.
There are people in this world that are 'low class' and are different from the people in the 'higher class, '
Because some people in the 'lower class' goes into depression and eat,
Because of the events happening in their life,
And so they become 'fat.'
But what 'skinny people' explain,
Is that they are slobs and can't eat normal instead of shoving food down their throat,
But what 'fat people' explain,
Is that they try to lose weight, but some of them can't because it's hard.
'Skinny people' make fun of them and 'fat people' let them,
Because some 'skinny people' don't know how it feels like to be 'fat, '
And some 'skinny people' call 'fat people' ugly and of course 'fat, '
But what 'skinny people' don't know is that we all are phat.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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George Crabbe Wrote Of
George Crabbe wrote of hardship and poverty and woe
In the England he lived in a long time ago
But perhaps his poems might be more popular today
Had he looked at life in a less truthful way.
George Crabbe wrote of children in dire poverty
The poor sad victims of Human cruelty
And the poems full of pathos and the poems full of truth
Of a poet who was blessed with the great gift of ruth.
He wrote of human cruelty to their own kind
A God in the soul of such a person you'll find
He did not write of mythological figures or monarch or squire
He wrote for the poor his type I do admire.
Of the poverty around him he was all too aware
But poets like George Crabbe they have always been rare
Though if you feel a bit down and a good laugh you do need
His poems lacking in Humor are not for you to read.
Of the poor souls of England George Crabbe did write
His poems not hard to understand or to read or recite
And though as a person and poet he was great
Such poets the masses never do celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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God is the creator
God is the creator
poem is a creation
Poet is not God.
I am a lover of poem
Poet is my hero
God is hero's hero.
I just read poem
I just enjoy reading poem
I shall continue to read poem
As long as I enjoy poem.
At times
Poems are being written by me.
The credit goes to God
God direct me to write poem
And I write.
God only can explain the meaning
I am just an instrument
And nothing.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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We Have Not Met Yet
as you read my poems
you imagine what my face would be
given said facts and thoughts like
the way i spend my nights writing
and facing the computer till twilight,
i must be thin, and since i have
lesser sleep, i must have dark
deep, sunken, almond eyes
like the insomniac's night,
my lips may have cracked
due to many coffee cups
giving liveliness to my lines,
my shoulders may have fallen,
due to extreme exhaustion,
my skin may have dried and
my hair may have been scattered
by the strong wind
like those poets who no longer
care for their health and hygiene.
i am sorry but you are wrong.
You have to see me to know me.
You have to touch my hand and
feel the warmth of my palms.
You have to touch my hair to
feel the softness of my soul.
i will that poet who orders plain
mineral water instead of beer.
I may wear a black coat but
there will be no white carnations
inside the pocket of my chest.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To My Friend Cat
Cat
Right now i’m feeling all blue
I dnt know what to do
For i feel like i’m a shit of rubbish
A rubbish that u can easily use and throw away
Cat
Right now i’m feeling all confused
I dnt know what to believe
All i hear that he’s “busy”
Well maybe he is,
But i feel like a shit bomb man
Cat
Right now i dnt feel loved
I dont know he loves me anymore
It’s like a trust has fades away
And this is to say
It’s similar to beautiful rose dying away
Cat
Right now i’m hurting all over
I dnt know who i could tell it to
I have nobody at the moment
Tell me what shall i do today?
Cat
What shall i do?
I hardly know u guys
I hardly know the world
I hardly go out
I hardly do normal things
I hardly to anything man
It’s not my fault if i can’t do things
How can i put it into words?
So that all of my mates and ppl may understand
Cat
I see myself as a shit
Soon i might see u breaking with me
Just like my other mates
I dnt know what to do
I’m a piece of shit
Cat
Plzz plzz...
Don’t hurt me
Like others did
Coz’ it already having an affect on me
Dnt be the one
That would break my heart...
poem by Hindy Nobody
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Returning to South Carolina meant getting a normal job in a normal town with normal people and marrying a normal person. I wanted the glamour and opportunity of the world.
quote by Donna Rice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I could have done other useful things than writing a poem
Sometimes I have regrets writing poems
Love poems, poems about virtue and heroism
Poems that explain myself, that justify
This nothingness
That fill this emptiness,
What are these but signs and metaphors of
My weaknesses,
Symbols of my hopelessness
Ciphers of my uselessness
To life’s dreams, unfulfilled, stars that I have not
Reach or even touch with the words in my lips
I could have danced, and danced so well
Sweat things out shedding sighs and skins on the floors
I could have played a role, acted my way out
Exiting through the doors of author’s characters
And feel this sense of
It was her it was him it was not me
Sometimes I feel
To be a poet is to be dumb and dead
To demand nothing but this honor
This laurel this principle
That I cannot eat that I cannot sell that I cannot
Make use of,
Useless poetry, trashy, nothing but bad breathes
Of my being
Foul and nauseating to my sense of
What I dream what I want to be
To be this great, respected man of power
One that commands rather than take orders
From someone claiming superior feathers
I have long wanted to stop but here I am again
An addict to poetry destined for rehabilitation
In distant cruel word processing centers
Just like you, here I am again, not stopping
My fingers always wanting to type the words
My mind always listening
my heart always mouthing
Words, words, words, these words
This poem
This poem is born and I am its tributary
I am this poet now without a face without a name
I am but a mouth, fingers to my hand
Always not stopping, how can I tell you why?
When I myself, do not really know. I am this poem
With an unknown author, I am this poem just written
Taking shape like a candle lighting,
Flowing from your thoughts
Taking the forms of beings unknown to us
We claim we understand we claim we can live with
You are now lost asking the way
You could have done other things than reading this poem
Precisely this is what I really feel. Do you feel it now?
Yes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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