En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Linking A To B...

i am glad
that A has not known much
she is like
a basket without a base
letting off
what should better be kept

the fruits are rotten
and she is no sleeping
she hops from one bottle of beer
to another
till she gets drunk and
tipsy

she bares herself naked
and in the morning when everyone is gone
she lays there alone
feasted by all flies

then B sends me messages
of hate
and humiliation

i am lucky
i am never like any of them.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Hate You!

I hate you for giving me hope in this life
when all there is, is despair.
I hate you for giving me this strife
and making the world seem so unfair.
I hate you forever wanting and letting
me know such happiness.
I hate you for leaving me to feel
the worst loneliness.
I hate you for telling me lies when i believe all
that you said
I hate you for letting me DIE
as i lay helpless in my bed.
I hate you for holding my hand
when it swung content by my side.
I hate you for EXISTING in this land
where we must coincide.
i hate you for smiling on a dreary day
when my frown is seen through the haze.
I hate you for letting come what may when
you could of stopped it in so many ways.
I hate you for saying YOU LOVE ME
when i asked you not to say it back.
I hate you for letting me see our relationship
CRACK!
I Hate you for not letting me hear
the cruel things you say when im not there.
I hate you for not letting me near
when my soul i need to bare.
I hate you for giving me a glance
when i think i look beautiful.
I HATE YOU 4 THE SECOND CHANCE
that left me incredibly hopeful.
I HATE YOU 4 NOT HEARING ME OUT
when i want to BEG AND PLEAD.
I hate you for making me doubt my opinion
to which i pay heed.
I hate you for all the things you said
that made me most content.
I hate you for turning my head beacuse
I still think your a GOD-SEND
I HATE YOU FOR THIS EXCRUCIATING PAIN I BARELY
ENDURE EVERY NIGHT.
i hate you for the constant rain my soul must fight.
i hate you for being there so now im doomed
to MISS & REMEMBER.
I hate you for giving me a reason to CARE.
what happened back in September?
I hate you for saying GOOD-BYE and leaving
me not knowing what to do.
But most of all
I hate you for letting me CRY
'cuase i can't have you!

poem by Aleisha Luyt
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Gimmie A Pigfoot

Wesley 'sox' wilson
Up in harlem every saturday night
Where the highbrows get together
It's just too right
They all congregate and all night hop
And what they do is ooh boppa dap
Ole hanna brown from way across town
Gets full of corn and starts
Bringing them down
And at the break of day
You can hear ole hanna say
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer
Send me a gate i don't care
Feel just like i wanna clown
Give the piano player a drink
Because he's bringing me down
He's got rhythm yeah, when he stamps his feet
He sends me right off to sleep
Cheek all your razors and all your guns
We're gonna be arrested when the wagon comes
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer
Send me cause i don't care
I want a pigfoot and a bottle of gin
Send me daddy move right in
I feel just like i wanna shout
Give the piano player a drink
Because he's knocking me out
He's got rhythm when he stamps his feet
He moves me right off to sleep
Check all your razors and your guns
Do the hueklebuck until the rising sun
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of gin
Move me, 'cause i'm in my sin
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer

song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I hate myselfs

I hate myselfs
every bones
every piece of flesh
every rotten organs
I hate myselfs

My very essences is rotten
my hearts a soild block of dry ice
my souls shattered and lost
I hate myselfs

wont kill myself
there are to many personalites I would
have to take with me

All yelling for attention
all wanting to be up front and alive
not hiding behind my eyes
in a brain that does not now
who it is
I hate myselfs

I walk alone
but hear voices
I sleep alone
but with many
I cry
and they laugh
I hate myselfs

Self the center of a healthy personality
yea try telling that to the 7 guys there right now
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself

poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Night On The Town

drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a vodka.
you pour the vodka into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.

you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.

you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star Turd
where love died
laughing.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Gimme A Pigfoot (and A Bottle Of Beer)

Wesley 'Sox' Wilson
Up in Harlem every Saturday night
Where the highbrows get together
It's just too right
They all congregate and all night hop
And what they do is Ooh boppa dap
Ole Hammer Brown from way across town
Gets full of corn and starts
Bringing them down
And at the break of day
You can hear ole Hammer say
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer
Send me a gate I don't care
feel just like I wanna clown
Give the piano player a drink
Because he's bringing me down
He's got rhythm yeah, when he stomps his feet
He sends me right off to sleep
Check all your razors and all your guns
We're gonna be arrested when the wagon comes
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer
Send me cause I don't care
I want a pigfoot and a bottle of gin
Send me daddy move right in
I feel just like I wanna shout
Give the piano player a drink
Because he's knocking me out
He's got rhythm when he stomps his feet
He moves me right off to sleep
Check all your razors and your guns
Do the hucklebuckle to the rising sun
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of gin
Move me, 'cause I'm in my sin
Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer

song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For You Love Me...

my forehead has dirt
there is shit on my cheek
my arms are dusty
and my hands are getting clumsy
my feet are muddy
and my lips are cracked
i am tipsy and drunk
and with someone else
on some cheap bed
yet when i come back
you make me still feel
that sense of home
you kiss my forehead
touch my cheeks with
your kind hands
and tell me
you miss me so much
and as i am tipsy and
drunk
you offer me hot green
tea
you open the door of
the house
and let me step again
inside the room
of love
full of affection
we embrace again
nothing about history
nothing about
what i must say
because you always
tell me
that whatever happens
you will always love me

now, who wants to be
away from you?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The rotten fruits

Such a tempting fruit as she is,
With such an adamancy as hers,
She makes my lust of her fall sick
And leaves me, who move to rotten fruits.

Ho! By such acts that she conducts,
What happiness would she derive?
By such denials does she get
Her corporal urges met with?

The rotten fruits overwhelm the eaten ones.
27.02.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Lazy Mornings, Thi Lovely Self...

there are mornings that are very much like us
lazy, do not want to wake up, light spreads in bed, and fresh air
fills the air and sings in our ears
yet
we cover our eyes, we refuse, we
curl our legs, and bury our eyes on the pillow

these mornings are nameless and they are many
some of these mornings are fruits of those sleeping pills
because some nights are cruel insomniacs that hide from us
the gifts of sleep,

i like to hate mornings like these
and i may hate it till evening

but i have already made a promise to understand all these
stupid mornings and
just be patient and let go off them

i write once, that i may hate everything including these lazy mornings that shy away from light and air

but i must spare this self that
after all i do not really exclusively own.

and so this is it:
i hate this lazy, stupid morning, but i shall never
hate myself:
i am sleepy, i am beautiful, i am lovely and witty after all.

you may sing tonight with me:
this love of self, this greatest love of all.
Do not misinterpret it for arrogance, pride or conceit,
albeit, i must tell you,
this is just a good gadget for moving on
into a sweet and kind survival.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Drunk Tonight

I wanna get drunk tonight
get drunk, so drunk
and travel beyond time
where I can see my youth
only my youth
where you were so in love with me
and I was so in love with you.

I wanna get drunk tonight
get drunk, so drunk
and travel beyond eternity
where I can see you and I
no one else
but you and I
loving each other.

I wanna get drunk tonight
get drunk, so drunk
so you will carry me
hold me
in your arms
and lay me beside you
till morning comes...

poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New Mexico

I was fairly drunk when it
began and I took out my bottle and used it
along the way. I was reading a week or two after
Kandel and I did not look quite as
pretty but
I brought it off and we
ended up at the Webbs, 6, 8, 10 of
us, and I drank scotch, wine, beer, tequila
and noticed a nice one sitting next to me -
one tooth missing when she smiled,
lovely, and I put my arm around her
and began loading her with bullshit. when I awakened at 10 a.m. the next morning
I was in a strange house
in bed with this
woman. she was asleep but looked
familiar.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Critiques

when they read your poem
and find some fleas there
and they scratch their heads
like saying: this is bad, this is really bad
and they crumple your poem
and throw it in their waste basket

and they junk the best poem you
have written taking you days and days to revise it
like it is a composition
of another nincompoop. a moron, a lesser kind of
the human being
like a bubble, a bumble, a bum, a belle, a keg,
a piece of feces
a ning nang nang nang

well, write another one.do not ever stop writing.

if you find the one that they have thrown in the waste basket
again, by chance,
redeem it,
take it back and iron out what difference have you
with that critique
(who has not written even a poem for his dog)

have patience. and always remember
you did not write the poem for him
you write it for you and your lover
and your loved one,
and another lover and many more lovers
of life and its
ecstacies

till kingdom come
be patient.
be ever patient.
it is you who has

seen the light. not them.

open another door.
go inside where your lovers dwell.
they will kiss you.
they will clap their hands
and drink beer with you.

and it will be dark again,
and you cannot sleep after you make love.
three times on the floor
and there and then
in your nudity
another voice comes inside your ears
asking that you write
about a floating blue butterfly
looking for the opening
of an orange
flower

another poem shall be written
early morning
be glad
the voice is still there

your shrink may tell you to name the voice.
for he thinks you are schizephrenic
to the max

do not tell him.

it is your secret with God.
be glad.write it.now.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I had never, ever drunk beer in high school, and by the time I got to Tech we were having these parties out in the cotton fields and getting so drunk. I was the champion beer drinker; suddenly I was pouring it down my throat... Insane! Insane!

quote by Bob Livingston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Last Picture

you in black shirt
wet with sweat
on a blue train
in the city
you are holding
a bottle of beer
on your side is
the dalmatian
without the usual
rope in your hand

things run smoothly
like the train
like the round body
of the bottle of beer
like your dog
lying on the floor
of the train
one night
when all the
passengers
are gone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is What We Make It, You Are Saying That Again

and how many times will you tell me that
once, in your pocket poetry
once, you read it when you were so drunk
unable to take the right step
and say the right syllabication of your words
tipsy, you fall all alone by yourself
while i watch you
telling myself that this is another kind of life
wasted

then you are telling me again this time
when we are together going to the fields
of our own wars
as we hold our guns and read the maps
and trail the ways of the forest

life is what you make it
there seems to be an error somewhere

life is what we make it brother
we work as a team, a community, a nation, a country
a wall stronger than just anyone of us

we shall make it
we shall keep this struggle
as a nation, not just anyone of us, tipsy and drunk and hopeless
and falling alone
with the mere whisper of the wind, the whimper of the common enemy

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Should Be The Kindness That Counts

i like it here
where kindness is put like a basket
full of fruits
where you pick one and taste
one and say
this fruit is sweet, and juicy and luscious

and then not to be outdone
you put some red & white roses
beside a basket and some
daffodils and colored daisies
and i say
oh! how beautiful have the fruits
become
because of the flowers!

i like it here
on friendly air
and sunny skies and singing birds

it is here
where kindness begets kindness
where love begets love
where everyone braces for the race of happiness

and never
violence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When comes the morning?

When
comes the real morning?
When golden, the sun's rays hover
Over the earth's snow-cover,
And where the shadows nestle,
Wrestle,
Lifting lightward the root enringèd
Till it shall seem an angel wingèd,
Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
But if the weather is bad
And my spirit sad,
Never morning I know.
No.

Truly, it's real morning,
When blossom the buds winter-beaten,
The birds having drunk and eaten
Are glad as they sing, divining
Shining
Great new crowns to the tree-tops given,
Cheering the brooks to the broad ocean riven.
Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
But if the weather is bad
And my spirit sad,
Never morning I know.
No.

When
comes the real morning?
When power to conquer parries
Sorrow and storm, and carries
Sun to the soul, whose burning
Yearning
Opens in love and calls to others:
Good to be unto all as brothers.

Then
it is morning,
Real, real morning.
Greatest power you know
-And most dangerous, lo!-
Will you
this
then possess?
Yes.

poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Santa Got Drunk For Christmas

A little too much
Holiday cheer
Twas the night before
His wedding anniversary
And he wakes up
In trouble
Next to a ho, ho, ho
Not so jolly now
Cos he's got
Such a awful hangover
Went a bit overboard
Santa got drunk for Christmas

The elves wanted to party
How could he say no?
They had all worked so hard
Making those toys
So off they went
To the local North Pole bar
To sing and dance
Eat, drink, and be merry
Then oops things got
Just a little out of hand when
Santa got drunk for Christmas

Got tipsy
Underneath the mistletoe
Oh how he made them all
Wanna throw up
When Santa did his dance
Swung his candy cane all around
Scared them to and fro
With a belly
That made it clear
Someone had had too much jelly
On the night Santa got drunk for Christmas

Uh oh
Santa's on the naughty list now
Cos Mrs. Claus just found out
Tonight closing those legs
Tells old Saint Nick
You ain't getting none
It's sleeping on the couch and AA for you
Don' t wanna ever catch you
With that vixen again
Such a sad case

Too bad
This is his story
Of one holiday
Gone so very wrong
The night
Santa got drunk for Christmas

poem by Ramona Thompson
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My love lays sleeping

My love lays sleeping
~
Sleep eludes me
My thoughts play on
Into the quiet of the night
A whispered chatter of thoughts
Fill my restless mind
~
My love lays sleeping
Beside me, safe
While I sit writing
I write of her beauty
The gentle nature of her soul
I write as if to say
How much I love her
~
What I would give
To see into her dreams
And gift them all to her
That she may smile and laugh
And share in this love
As though to dream forevermore
~
Sleep eludes me
My love lays sleeping
Sleep on sweet beauty

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Friends O' Mine

Well it was ugly but we made it this far
Some have gone but I forget who they are
Now the hangovers are worse but we get through em' fine
Sleeping late but we're no lazy
Getting older but we're still crazy
I'm so glad that I have these friends o' mine
It started out at a coffee shop in a most unlikely town
And there were casualties but we made it out anyhow
We stuck together through the good and bad times
Pulp Fiction, Blazing Saddles, and Fast Times
I'm so glad that I have these friends o' mine
[Guitar solo]
Jobs, girls, and obstacles did all but break us down
Night clubs and broken vans in every major town
And I've got your back; you've got mine
And Johnny Cash said I walk the line
And you can always count on me for one last beer
We saw the world and the world seemed smaller
We're getting wider but not getting no taller
I know we've grown up just a little at a time
We're sleeping late but we're not lazy
We're getting older but we're still crazy
I'm so glad that I have these friends o' mine
So glad that I have these friends o' mine
So glad that I have these friends of mine

song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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at PH....

i do not say
that we who keep on writing are like those flies
trapped in the bottle
wanting to find an exit...

this is the bottle, we are the flies, and
we all love it here.

there is less air, but we manage to breathe.
there is less space, but we co-exist

this an enclosed world, and we are the letters
that they have sealed inside those envelopes

somehow, the envelopes arrive
in those distant places, and here we are

read by you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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