I Like The Way You Write
narrative poetry
in little doses of feelings
from the most trivial
to the least know, and it
is everyday,
i like it that way you
make a diary of what
happens along the way
a glass of water inhabited
by a black fish
a room becoming a haven
for a blue butterfly
the lamp as the center of
your universe
the chairs as knights of the
night armor applauding
waiting orders from your
head king of imagination
your bed hugging you as
the queen of purple hearts
words playing like kids in
the part at the center of
the city of halluballoo (read
as hallucination) while
their mothers are away
doing the marketing
calling daddies to fetch
their kids back home.
by now you know this is
nothing but play: a dolphin
catching a ball passing it
to the parakeet rumor mongering
with another parakeet
as the clock of nature ticks and
ticks: my ears are tickled by the
feathers of triviality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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She Wants To Play Hearts
I am a broken toy
For a lonely girl
Use once and destroy
And go find some more
Back home, kids play in the leaves in the park
She wants to play a game of hearts
I'm the rag doll boy
With broken eyes
She only comes to me
When it's raining outside
Back home, kids play in the leaves in the park
She wants to play a game of hearts
I fell for you
I fell for you
Why?
I guess I wanted to play too.
Here's the lonely string
Playing 'long in my head
For only just my arms
Are dancing marionettes
Back home, kids play in the leaves in the park
And she wants to play a game of hearts
She wants to play a game of hearts
song performed by by Ryan Adams

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Numbered Poem
2. the mantle is heavy in white.
3. the white cup is not fuming.
4. the lover does not come tonight.
5. an empty vase keeps a shallow
6. conversation with the black clock.
7. there is no flower to brighten
8. the night without a tryst.
9. it is the black clock that ticks
10. time.It is this lament. A cup
11. without tea. A vase without
12. a rose, a daffodil, a white lily.
13. the black clock ticks. There
14. is no hint that it will stop.
That big shell knows it all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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A View In Town Square
four blue chairs surround
a center table
at the center table
lies the red cloth
there are no diners
this time of the day
on the blue frames of
the glass window
where the white curtains
hang & flow like silky water
the lush of the red
bougainvillea is a wreath
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Tick Tick Tick....!
Tick Tick Tick Tick,
Clock Ticks,
Lub dub Lub Dub heart beats,
Cycle of inhaling and exhaling
makes breath,
Pulses from unknown center has own lifetime,
keeps time for us, clock that set in
every cell schedules its life and
birth! Life is light trapped in atom,
excited electron has to fall back,
Just like life raises up and falls
back,
rhythm, wavelength and
frequency decide energy of light, local time may not match with
clock in other region,
Light travels covering space
does truly decide time?
You are the medium where light
is slowest, faster it is in different medium
and plane, Before the internal clock stops,
Sending warning alarm,
Alarm thyself, you are here not
only to know,
But also to the wish of the one
beyond light and clock, who can fix clock even in a light
photon,
can fix clock in everything,
Arise and awake before chime of
alarm,
No snooze is there in your clock, Never get yourself lost in
yawning,
No one can stay here.
when time is up!
Namaste and thank you all before
my clock ticks and buzz to say
time is up!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar

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The Clock On The Wall
The clock ticks on the wall
The same walls
That saw my family
Grow from childhood
To adulthood
The tick tock of time
Each stroke captures
A time a place
Were we visit back
In memories of old
A birth a death
A wedding of bliss
Each memory reflected
In the glass of a
Clock that sits upon the wall
As time ticks by
We look at our lives
What we have done
Where we have gone
Have we wasted any?
Precious time that
Makes our lives whole
So savor the moment
And make each moment count
poem by Kaila George

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The Big Kid and the Tall Tale
The big kid stood
by the garden shed
with others kids and you
the horticultural teacher
was down by the beds
with some other kids
whom he was showing
how to dig
and the big kid said
I had her
back there
up in those woods
at the end
of the playing field
the other kids
moved in closer
to get a better grip
on the tale told
you stood on
the perimeter
of the crowd
one eye
on the big kid
the other on the teacher
bent over a kid
showing him how
to hold a spade
and you know what?
the big kid said
she was some goer
the other kids
looked at him
then at each other
some plump kid
with spots laughed
you looked over
towards the woods
by the playing field
a quaint woodland
over by the fence
and near the road
and you know
what it's like? Huh?
the big kid said
the kids nodded
you noticed
their eyes large
and their tongues
at the corner
of mouths
it was like slipping
into a warm bed
the big kid said
on a cold night
the teacher made
his way towards
you and the kids
by the shed
the big kid
made gestures
with his hand
and the boys sniggered
half catching on
to the gesture's tale
the big kid's hands
went into pockets
out of sight
the other kids
moved towards
the teacher's
calling voice
you followed
unwillingly
having little choice.
poem by Terry Collett

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The Wild Horses And The Snow
last night the horses were there again
black, brown, white, gray horses, spotted ones
on their furious breaths they ran wildly on the
white snow
white as the fleece of a lamb
the feathers of the parakeet
the hair of the albino hamster
they are making the sounds of freedom
exploring the distance of distances
roaming the earth
and the mountains and the plains
all in my head.
subconscious desires waiting for the Freudian
explanations.
as usual.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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O Beautiful Butterfly
Beautiful, beautiful
Purple, violet, red
Spotted and varied
Butterfly, butterfly
Little Rishu does say
Come and play
Butterfly, butterfly
Like you
I want to fly
Very, very high
And view
Beautiful flowers
And playing kids
Who oft skids
While running
Playing in the garden
O beautiful butterfly
Come and take me high
High above in the sky
O my sweet butterfly, butterfly
Shashikant Nishant Sharma 'साहिल'
==========©SNS==14 November 2010==Patna==========
{This poem was written on the children day on seeing my little nephew playing in the garden.}
poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma

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The Poems As Diary
to know me
there is no other but this poetry
to know poetry however
please do not read
my diary
for this diary may fail the standards
of your poetry
but at any rate everyday poetry is a diary
what makes us fume like a mad cow
what makes us whistle like a satisfied lover
what makes us surrender in defeat and shout victory in triumphs
little things and big things
all summed up
in this new thing: diary as poetry
and poetry as diary.
we do not even have to rhyme
does life rhyme at all my friend?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Back Where I Come From
In the town where I was raised
Clock ticks and the cattle graze
Time passed with amazing grace
Back where I come from.
You can lie on a riverbank
Paint your name on a water tank
Miss count all the beers you drank
Back where I come from.
Back where I come from,
Where Ill be when it is said and done,
Im proud as anyone thats where I come from.
We learned in a sunday school
Just who made the sun shine through
I know who made the moon shine too
Back where I come from
Blue eyes on a saturday night
Tan legs in the broad daylight
Tvs they were black and white
Back where I come from
Back where I come from,
Where Ill be when it is said and done,
Im proud as anyone thats where I come from.
Some say its a backwards place
Narrow minds on a narrow race
But I make it a point to say thats where I come from.
Thats where I come from,
Where Ill be when it is said and done,
Im proud as anyone thats where I come from.
Thats where I come from
Im an old tennesseean
I am as proud as any one thats where I come from
Back where I come from
Back where I come from
Back where I come from
song performed by by Kenny Chesney

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Growing up #2
I never talk much about my Dad
Because, when I do I get very sad
I can't give my dad much credit
Dad didn't raise us, mom did it
Oh please don't get me wrong
I loved him, he used to sing songs
But dad could be mean with his words
I know, because I always heard
I heard him talk to mom, like she was a dog
And when he wanted his kids, it was to kill a hog
He would take us to his mothers
And they would sit and talk about others
They talked mean about mom and her kids
Like he didn't help bring us into this world, but he did
Don't get me wrong, I loved him, because he was my dad
But he always put his mother in front of my mom, and that was sad
Dad took us to his mothers one day
And we were sent out to play
While my dad set at her table and ate banana pudding
kids wasn't allowed to eat, mom got mad, because her kids couldn't
So mom came out and set with her kids
When dad got done, the fight was on, and she did
It was months before mom would go back over there
Heck it was months, before we went any where
The eight kids that mom and dad had
It was all left up to my mom, and that is so sad
If I had A gold award, I would ask my mom to stand up
Because dad didn't help us grow up
This gold statue, Is awarded to my mom
For raising five girls and three sons
poem by Frieda Lumpkins

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I grew up in a family where the internalized understanding was that the kids were going to grow up into a better world. I worry, because I don't think my kids are going to have that. The world is very scary. The world would be scary without the choices the current administration made, but they just exacerbated it. And it ticks me off. I want my kids to have a good life.
quote by Bradley Whitford

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You are the poet
Poet is a journalist
Watches the feelings
Watches the emotions
Watches the world
Watches the light and
Watches the dark
He thinks everywhere
Others can’t imagine
-o-
Chasing the thoughts
Searching the words
Forming the sentences
To give the expression
To put the life in it
-o-
Poet is like a cook
Collecting good ingredients
Cooking the feelings to
Present in better way
-o-
Poet is like a soldier
Fighting in the war and
Fighting with the self
Feeling the pain and
Bleeding the emotions
Making room for self
To express the story
To save the people
-o-
Poet is like mother
Cooking the soft food
Feeding smoothly
Treating the readers like his own kids
Reader’s happiness is poet’s happiness
If you can’t praise, no problem
But don’t forget to acknowledge
-o-
Poet is the center of universe
Editors, Music directors,
Composers, singers, musicians,
Media everybody is rotating around
-o-
Poet writes to quench intellectuals
Poet writes to entertain good listeners
Poet writes to move hearts
Poet writes for a cause
Poet write for entertainment
Poets write to express themselves
Poets write to share their feelings
-o-
When time is running
Poem is the history
In present it reflects the story
Poem gives the hope in future
-o-
Poet is the planter
Plants seeds into your hearts
Make sure that it sprouts
Brings the thoughts into actions
-o-
Poet is the director behind your actions
Poet is the motivator behind your feelings
Poet is the coach who puts you on track
Poet is person whom your heart likes
-o-
Poet is the soldier when he uses poem as bullet
Poet is the coach when his poem moves your heart
Poet is the love, when he gives poem as flower
Poet is the parent, when he consoles you in your troubles
Poet is the healer who heals souls
Poet enters different roles
To justify the poem and to justify the people
-o-
Poem is the form of literature
We can find in holy books
Poem is the feelings
Poem touches the hearts
-o-
Sun can be seen in day
Moon can be seen in night
But poem is there day and night
Poem is powerful than nature
Poem don’t have life and death
Just it flows from heart to heart
Poet is the instrument
In the hands of the poem
-o-
If you drink a cup of alcohol
It may stay there just for hours
If you read a good poem
Nobody knows how long it gives the kick
-o-
When you have time, read a good poem
When you have time, write some poetry
When you have time, share a poem
-o-
You will be the poet, when you read a poem
You will be the poet, when you put on paper
You can be the poet to change your self
You can be the poet to change the world
You must be a poet, to enjoy this life
Waiting for you, to listen to your poem
-o-
poem by Bhavani Polimetla

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Where Are We In This Too Large Universe?
WHERE ARE WE IN THIS TOO LARGE UNIVERSE?
Where are we in this too large universe?
Once they told us we were the center
And in our little time all History turning -
Now even Time has gone far beyond us
And our little interval
Is so so so so small
We will be gone before even the closest galaxy to ours knows it –
Once we were the meaning of it all
And now we are a question
And a transition we ourselves may make to something senselessly strange-
I want to go home
To where we were the center of the universe
And God chose us
Because we
Were God’s poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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The Medication Is Wearing Off
See this watch she gave me?
Well it still ticks away
The days Im climbing back for me
The medications wearing off
Gonna hurt not a little, a lot
Keep on tickin youre not lickin me
Step on a crack break your mothers heart
Red light green light black
Suicide e-mail do not delete
Plug it back in the jack
Start to be what they want you to be
And you see yourself as they see you
Sunsrise at the corner of
Sunset and alvarado
I think what the hell do I do now
Watch the day disintegrate
So I can stay up late and wait
See this watch she gave me?
Well it still ticks away
song performed by by Eels

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad Sacking Uncle Daddies
My heart goes out,
To those unknown who carry...
In their minds they can not rid,
The fact...
They are the products,
Of some sad sacking uncle daddies.
And these uncle daddies brag about their kids.
As if supporting them is what they did!
But they don't care a bit.
OR do a disciplining.
All these uncle daddies do,
Is dropp a seed to leave and scoot.
I'd like to shout from rooftops,
But to who would give a hoot?
I'd like to stick my booted foot,
Up a pooter with a couth.
But...
Who would benefit from it?
Not the kids who walk around,
With feelings dismissed.
I'd like to shout from rooftops,
But to who would give a hoot?
I'd like to stick my booted foot,
Up a pooter with a couth.
To knock some sense in uncle daddies.
Those sad sacking uncle daddies.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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Grenade Jumper
My heart ticks in beat with these kids that I grew up with.
living like life's going out of style.
You came to watch us play...like a "Big shot talent,"
but at the end of the day you know where we come from
and where we call home.
Hey Chris, you were our only friend.
I know this is belated, but we love you back.
They'll say it's not worth it.
So we'll leave this town in ruin.
living like life's going out of style.
You came to watch us play...like a "Big shot talent,"
but at the end of the day you know those busted lips
we take back home.
I know you would be there either way.
I'm so glad it seems like these times will never fade.
So I'll tell everyone how much this means to me.
song performed by by Fall Out Boy

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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D4 Or E4, That Is The Question
He sits across from me over a board
With checkered squares. He is white; I am black.
I need a win, him a draw. Can’t afford
To play prophylactically. Attack
Is my only chance to win this tourney.
Which leaves me with only one opening:
The Sicilian*. I only hope that he
Will play a hackneyed first move like a king
Pawn center thrust. Queen pawn creates problems
And he doesn’t need problems at this time.
I feel both moves favor me. It depends.
Playing queen pawn I think would undermine
His chances for a draw but then again
The king pawn move allows the Sicilian.
* 1. e4....c5
poem by Albert Ahearn

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Butterfly, Fly Away
Butterfly
Fly away
I’ll need you back some other day
When I’m sad
And feeling Blue
I’ll call out and search for you
Your bright shades
Come to play
Dispelling all the longing gray
Please shine on
And bring love to
All the kids that play with you
Butterfly
Fly away
I’ll need you back some other day
poem by Natalie Sapphire

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Our Paranoia
the uncured disease of mankind had always been
that the earth is the center of the universe
that man is at the center of all these
that he is loved by the skies and the seas and the mountains
that i am the center of your attraction
or that i have loved you truly too
these are the demands of illusions
the sun is just one of the thousand stars
though it may be true that it is the center of our universe
that you may have loved me truly and i may think that i am the only
star in your universe
how hopeless can i be thinking that way
when the truth is just i am just a dust, a speck of this vast space of dusts
one night i stand in the middle of the grass and looked at the stars
i feel so far and so tiny just like Venus that planet that glitters in the north.
human love is as small as a grain of sand, yet somehow we imagine that
as a Saturn in the planetary system.
i am not saying the truth that indeed we are nothing but an empty sigh.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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