In My World Of Work
With so much paper works piling
On my desk
▓
▓
In my world where I call
a ♠ spade
a ♠ spade
I have to sing
♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫
a song inside my
♥
in order to survive► ♀
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Of Songs And Poems And Solitude
it is singing time
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♫
with friends
♀ ♂ ♀ ♂ ♀ ♂ ♀ ♂
♀ ♂ ♀ ♂ ♀ ♂ ♀ ♂
in my house
۩
we have tea and cakes
too
still have our poetry
ﮠ ﯣ ﯟ ﻊ ﻗ ﮠ ﯟ ﻊ ﮠ ﯣ ﯟ ﻊ ﻗ ﮠ ﯟ ﻊ
and then back to my
solitude
ﻗ
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of Love
Some songs are sad songs: dum ♪ de♪ dum♪ dum♪ dum.♪
Others are cheerful: tra ♪ la la ♫ la ling♫
And people are the same. Some may become
A sadden lot, see gloom in everything.
And then there are the opposite, see joy
In what life brings. They dance to different drums.
The sad do dum♪ de♪ de♪ dum♪ de♪ de♪ hooey♪
The merry do Tra♪ la♪ la♪ la♪ tra♪ umm♪
The moral of the story is: The Earth
Is our home and we love it, no matter
Who we might be. Our self-defining worth
Depends if we get along together.
So lets tra♪ la♪ dum♪ de♪ umm♪ tra♪ de♪
And try to live our lives in harmony.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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For A Variation
I am tired of some symbols and metaphors
☼ ☻ ☻ ☺ ♥
♣ ♠ ● ○ ♦
▓ ﮮ ﴾ ﴿ ﻀ
Let us try some notes♫ ♪ ♫ instead
A song,
And some desserts
Of the heart
♥
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Love Me
When you love me
♥
Do not talk about immortality
► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ►
I am just a man
♂
And like any other men
♂ ♂ ♂ ♂
I make some lies
﴾ ﴿
I have lots of alibis
⅓ ⅔ ⅜ ⅝ ⅞ ⅛
╥ ░
==============
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Well, Say It As You See It
it is nice
yes, always the feeling is nice
when you call a spade a spade
lets your heart out
nothing tightens
or chokes
nothing to vomit
at the end
nothing hidden
well, they laid the principle
of candid honesty
say it as it pleases you
not as it pleases them
always, yes, always
call a spade a spade
that is rule # one
honesty, that lonely word
well, i learned it by heart
learning to say
what is in my mind
but what do i get?
nothing
everyone is displeased
with my honesty
that i am one tactless
form of shit
this monstrous mammal
this elephant with a tusk
this snake with a venom
this mischievous child
laughing at the
naked emperor
without clothes
well, yes, i still say what i see
calling a spade always a spade
and what do i get?
yes, this one,
nothing but this one
this poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not to call a spade a spade
Don't call her a concubine.
Say she in live-in-relationship.
Don't call her a harlot.
Say she has many companions.
Don't call her adulterous.
Say she is with easy virtue.
Don't call a spade a spade
Lest it should be offended.
15.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Poet's Song
~♥ ♥ ♥ ~
I have read
Works of great men and women
Simple poems and stories
I also have written
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I love poetries
So too are stories
They are simple daisies
Filling my fantasies
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
It is my refuge
When in sorrow
My hopes and dreams
In my unknown tomorrow
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I am a poetess
With the dream of sharing
And with my knowledge and skills
Tomorrow, my dreams I will be fulfilling
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I and my works
May never be great
But I will never lose hope
In God, I place my faith
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I will never surrender to failure
I shall never retire until I reach my goal
I will read and write literature
I will hear the cry of my hoping soul
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
~♥ ♥ ♥ ~
poem by Belleza Edella Marian SwanCullen
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The Diary Of A Young Girl (diary From An Angel)
Dear Diary,
Daddy was on the couch again
Mommy left again.
I walked alone to school today,
Somtimes i feel alone, sometimes I feel like a real lady.
My friend left me at lunch,
I was alone, I miss her a bunch.
I got a bruise from daddy,
He told me I have to do what he says, and call him daddy
Mommy got home late tonight,
But thats no different from every night.
Daddy put me in bed with him,
I said I didn't want to, but he made me do it with him.
I cut myself, I cut my arm,
I sat and did my own harm.
Daddy and mommy were yelling,
Please don't tell, the don't know I am telling.
Daddy threatened me,
He said I ruined his life, and that I can't start new.
Mommy said I was nothing
God said she's bluffing.
Daddy killed mommy today,
As I sat and watched today.
Mommy left me alone here,
I can't feel her near.
Daddy says I'm his now, his to enjoy,
That my body is his toy.
Daddy cut through my body,
He didn't stop, even when i said I had to go potty.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
I met god today
I saw mommy's face again today.
I don't want to see daddy again,
Not after the pain he's left with me, with nothing to gain.
I left him alone in the world,
I left him alone.
He hurt me yesterday, that's all I know now,
I'll never forget...... I don't know how
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Spade
The beauty spot was borrowed
Now my sweet knife rusts tomorrow
I'm a confession that is waiting to be heard
Burn your empty rain down on me
Whisper your deathbeat so softly
We bend our knees at the alter of my ego
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
All my lilies' mouths are open, like they're begging for dope and hoping
their bitter petal chant, "we can kick, you wont be back"
Im a diamond that is tired, of all the faces i've aquired, we must secure the shadow ere the substance fades
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
And we said 'til we die
And we said 'til we die
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
And we said 'til we die
And we said 'til we die
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I may die
I am not the one who will ditto,
Seek someone else to serve your purpose,
I call a spade spade,
If you compell me to do so,
I may die,
For the burden is unbearable
To my heart.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Call A Spade A Spade
at that very young age
you were taught to call a spade a spade
and a square a square. There are no exceptions to the rule.
There are no compromises with the truth.
Then you grow to be a very nice, self-made man.
You practice what was taught to you.
And you meet pain and disappointments.
And you suspect that the teachers are wrong.
Time teaches you.
Squares sometimes become rectangles on an extension of a principle
to accommodate a compromise of a certain shape.
A spade need not be a spade depending on who gets axed.
A square peg you sometimes put in a round hole and it does not matter
really what happens next. You are simply told to do so as ordered.
And what is important is that they like it.
You survive the hazards of this life.
You become successful on the science of compromise,
the art of plea bargaining, the techniques of human relations.
You get some plaques for a lessened self-restraint.
You get the awards and recognitions for being their man of the year.
And one day you look at yourself in the mirror.
You see a different face and you do not like it anymore.
You quit and hide. You go away. You want to be left alone.
You want to reinvent yourself and listen to the voice.
Carefully, you cure the sickness of success.
All you need is a self who accepts yourself. All you need is the touch
of your hand. The applause has become pain itself.
And there you are, finding the truth again.The real meaning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love You But Cant Trust You!
I had my trust broken many times before.
I was left a broken hearted girl.
I still am broken inside.
I simply cannot trust.
Its not you it’s me.
My trust can’t be broken again.
So don’t ask me to trust
because I can’t do it.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
poem by Unknown Girl
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Nearby
Say a spade
a spade
see all fade.
Face the sky
find everything
nearby.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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My pride is…
I earn within which I eat and wear.
No jealousy, no begging either.
Calling a spade a spade, I’m content..
My pride is to live within my means.
10.07.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Spade
In my heart, my love fades
To the small corners of dark color spades
I see it fester in its pointed edge
And to its death I solemnly pledge
"Kill my love, kill my heart"
then I smash the spade, till its love falls apart
Now all that's there, is sable ink
And into its fluid my hand does sink
I write with it all love's gain
And all we seek all in vain.
Love is not defined by anything
But a broken heart that cannot sing
In morbid ink, my soul I dress
And to love, my love I confess
My love of love, a dark spade
That kills my heart, the spade it made
I fade....
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Figs he calls figs, a spade a spade. [Said of a man who speaks with sincerity and means what he says.]
Peace Song
Music is away
My world is in pain
I try to murmur old song
Who's writer long ago was gone
Those years the world was in peace
That song used to be song
As song of love signs
Now Inside my soul still does survive an old peace song
But what is surrounded my world is a strange ugly song
Never I've heard it before
Nor to anyone of us
Strangers they are to us
With broken voice inside
I want to shout loud
Once again I want to sing the same old peace songs
But sad faces broken hearts
Are telling me to not sing any love song
poem by Majed Mora
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A Better Way
There’s a better way of digging
Than that, Uncle said, taking the
Spade from your hands and showing
You with a craftsman’s touch how
It should be done. You watched in
Wonder how with ease and skill he’d
Made the trench begin to shape far
More quickly than your frail work
Produced. He handed you back the
Spade and you noticed the calluses
That years of using spades and other
Workman’s tools had made. He took
Hold of your hand and turned it over,
Gazed intently and smiled and shook
His head. Such lily-white hands were
Made for pen not spade or hoe or rake,
He said, finish what’s started, lad, then
Return to your studies and pen instead.
poem by Terry Collett
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