Natural Instincts...
urination is always a delight
an act of emptying and this time
when it is over
one feels the happiness of that
emptiness that i have been
telling you
not just the defecation even
but the vomiting of something
poisonous
this is our natural body
it excretes what kills it
what discomfort that has caused
its inconvenient moment
it excludes
segregates expels and
does not want to recall
trust your instincts
when you feel like vomiting it
by all means
vomit, vomit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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thank you Russell Edson... great poem
The house grows sick in its dining room and begins to vomit.
Father cries, the dining room is vomiting.
No wonder, the way you eat, it's enough to make anybody sick,
says his wife.
What shall we do? What shall we do? he cries.
Call the Vomit Doctor of course.
Yes, but all he does is vomit, sighs father.
If you were a vomit doctor you'd vomit too.
But isn't there enough vomit? sighs father.
There is never enough vomit.
Do I make everybody that sick, sighs father.
No no, everybody is born sick.
Born sick? cries father.
Of course, haven't you noticed how everybody eventually
dies? she says.
Is the dining room dying...?
... The way you eat, it's enough to make anyone sick,
she screams.
So I do make everybody that sick...
Excuse me, I think I'm going to be sick, she says.
Oh where is the Vomit Doctor? At least when he vomits one
knows one has it from high authority, screamed father.
Landscape of a Vomiting Multitude
The fat lady came out first,
tearing out roots and moistening drumskins.
The fat lady
who turns dying octopuses inside out.
The fat lady, the moon's antagonist,
was running through the streets and deserted buildings
and leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the corners
and stirring up the furies of the last centuries' feasts
and summoning the demon of bread through the sky's clean-swept hills
and filtering a longing for light into subterranean tunnels.
The graveyards, yes the graveyards
and the sorrow of the kitchens buried in sand,
the dead, pheasants and apples of another era,
pushing it into our throat.
There were murmuring from the jungle of vomit
with the empty women, with hot wax children,
with fermented trees and tireless waiters
who serve platters of salt beneath harps of saliva.
There's no other way, my son, vomit! There's no other way.
It's not the vomit of hussars on the breasts of their whores,
nor the vomit of cats that inadvertently swallowed frogs,
but the dead who scratch with clay hands
on flint gates where clouds and desserts decay.
The fat lady came first
with the crowds from the ships, taverns, and parks.
Vomit was delicately shaking its drums
among a few little girls of blood
who were begging the moon for protection.
Who could imagine my sadness?
The look on my face was mine, but now isn't me,
the naked look on my face, trembling for alcohol
and launching incredible ships
through the anemones of the piers.
I protect myself with this look
that flows from waves where no dawn would go,
I, poet without arms, lost
in the vomiting multitude,
with no effusive horse to shear
the thick moss from my temples.
The fat lady went first
and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies
where the bitter tropics could be found.
Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived
did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.
poem by Federico García Lorca
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In A Foreign Country At A Third Rate Hotel
It stinks; I know which food has been vomited-
some people call it junk food; others know that he is drunk
and is vomiting. Whatever happened, the food
has been burnt, about this nobody doubts or hesitate -
And I know about his well-being, he is overgrown:
He has been called an “animal.” Avoid him
with all your might, he will jump when he gets angry
and will kill even the chosen -
At this place there is a frightened antelope and some vomit
that is now stinking. Can you believe this! Go and pray
somewhere on your bed at night, even in cold fever,
return to your full senses; start playing your part,
dress in your suit and bow tie and fasten your shoelaces
and full of melancholy
follow
the interpreter.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Anger That Kills
The anger that kills,
that destroys our will,
It tears out our heart
and keeps us apart.
Moments wasted
like vomit retasted
Cant get them back
Holes in the sack.
Scattered and thrown
Weeds overgrown
Its the anger that kills,
Swallow the pills
Cuts like a knife
The end of a life
poem by John DeBona
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He’s past it
Werner is not unconscious
from drugs and liquor,
he’s past it
and a white ambulance
arrives with a flashing
red light.
He lies on the ground
in his own vomit
and urine
that lays yellow, orange and white
around him
and empty dark brown beer bottles
and a bottle of Johnny Walker
is broken
and the glass
stabs into his arm
and the man
on the label
walks past him
and blowflies
are everywhere on him
and a pot pipe
clings with vomit
to his mouth.
There’s an injection
with the needle
still in his vain
and his eyes are big and grey
and empty without life
while his right hand
clutches a guitar
as if he’s thinking
about the next chord
and there’s tiredness
and emptiness on his face.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Limitations Of The Body...
sometimes i forget that i have a body
it is only when i eat that i remember i have one
but most of the times
i am full and so i almost forget all about this body
i am feeding it with wrong things
ideas, more ideas,
i am covering it with mysteries that it cannot relate because
a body is just a body
earthly, mundane
clay,
stick, creepy
skin, hair
sunken eyes,
trembling hands
it is flesh, bones, cartilages,
and
nerves, and when all these nerves take revenge on me
i shall finally lose this body
which i welcome somehow
because i have not experienced it yet
fully
i live in the mind,
my castle is in my imagination,
and i eat nothing for the day
but words
and i drink nothing for the day but ink
and i touch nothing for the day
but keys
the body is forgotten and so are my chains,
my prisons, my
dark rooms,
my body, this fetter,
this
ball and chain that hold me
in hunger and pain and
thirst and
constant urination,
disturbing
defecation
sometimes i like to become nothing but air
so you cannot see me anymore so i can go places and be lost forever
because i am not this body,
and i do not want to be caught in here
a little longer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Is this cking true?
is this cking true?
If it is, then excuse me,
I feel like vomiting a disgust driven by pity and neglect and disinterested admonition.
ok.
now its time for the cat walk.
on the cat walk, on the cat walk.
poem by Celine Charcoal
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If you want to know what it means to be happy, look at a flower, a bird, a child; they are perfect images of the kingdom. For they live from moment to moment in the eternal now with no past and no future. So they are spared the guilt and anxiety that so torment human beings and they are full of the sheer joy of living, taking delight not so much in persons or things as in life itself. As long as your happiness is caused or sustained by something or someone outside of you, you are still in the land of the dead. The day you are happy for no reason whatsoever, the day you find yourself taking delight in everything and in nothing, you will know that you have found the land of unending joy called the kingdom.
quote by Anthony de Mello
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Heroin
You'll never leave me
You need me in this life
You can't live without me
I own you
You belong to me
That's right, don't ever try to leave me
Because you can't
You can't do it
You know who I am
(Who are you? Tell em' your name*)
My name is Heroin I'm better than your medicine
I'll take your life and your soul if you let me in
There ain't a problem in this world that I can't fix
There ain't a pain that you have I can't help you deal with (X 2)
You need me you can't live without me inside you
Don't believe in negative press you've been lied to
I'm all you need in life you can't breathe without me
I'm your best friend, your lover and your family
I make you feel like you have supernatural power
I'm all you need and I'm just a brown powder
You'd steal from your own mother just to have me
Walk through the worst neighborhoods just to grab me
Sitting in a corner putting me in a spoon
Anticipating the feeling you're gonna have soon
Burning me, turning me into liquid form
It's a great habit what you wanna kick it for
You look at you, you're trembling putting me in that syringe
You're pocking your skin you're trying to get me in
Youll shoot me through your eyelids just to get me to your brain
The faster I can go there and ease your pain
In your vein I just slither like a venoms snake and it's great
I can't wait to end your heartache
I slowly cross the blood brain barrier
Give birth to morpheme finds to open your receptors
You have a sensation; you're calling it a rush
The intensity because you had all my drug
And the faster that I find to open your receptors
The more intense the rush is, it feels even better
You might have a warm blushing in your skin
Have a dry mouth or happiness in your limbs
You might be nauseous, vomit, have severe itching
But it's worth it nothing beats this here feeling
(Chorus X 3)
You got problems in your life I can help you through it
you tried to dump me once before but you couldn't do it
You had insomnia, muscle and bone pain
Worse than when you tried to leave my cousin named Cocaine
You were vomiting, restless, had cold flashes
It's just you and me no one knows you're an addict
You're psychically dependent on me now. Don't you see that?
You would die without me in your life, believe that
I've infected your heart and collapsed you veins
Ive done sever damage to your brain
Because of me youve had bacterial infections
A small price to pay that's the cost of my affection
The high is wearing of you're drowsy for a couple of hours
My affects have got your mental function all clouded
You heart rate drops you respiratory system slows
You're slowly fading as a victim of my overdose
You needed me but don't you see I don't need you
There's a lot of people in this world that need me too
I just used you like the stupid bitch you are
I left you dead in your own vomit on the kitchen floor
I didn't care about you; you're just a bitch to me
I know you cheated on me with my brother Ecstasy
We got more people to infect, you can't stop me
These rehabs and clinics people still can't drop me
I've been on a killing spree for decades now
There ain't nothing in this world gonna slow me down
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha
Yeah that's right
You can't stop me
I'm just gonna keep going
I'ma keep ending more lives, infecting more people
This ain't never gonna stop
Cause once you've had me, you can't live without me in your life
I will rule your whole world
You live for me
I own you
song performed by by Q-Strange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now Let Us Begin
man if he is true to be man, is more real if he is at first
less of himself, when he is empty, when he is emptied,
when he is emptying. It is like the stomach, you feel it more
when it is empty rather than when it is full
it speaks to you when it is hungry
it grunts
it growls
it even howls
and sometimes it whistles
than when it is bloated with so much food
and wine and desserts.Because in hunger, in the hopelessness
of our state, in the emptiness of our being
we know where we will place
everything.
we will know our dreams, we meet our hopes,
for the first time
we know precisely when to wish,
and where to put them
when we are emptying,
when we are emptied
and now we are sure when we are filling.
let us begin.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When the Body Starts to Go Broke...
you complain of flu
time has now asked for an accounting
how your body is used
how is it abused
with so much work
and thoughts and stress and
waste
you think about drugs
and the possibility of a vaccine
i say there is more to it
we don't live by drugs alone
or bread
there is more to this tired body
this restless mind
go deeper
ask your heart
and listen
there is more to this sickness
the symptoms shout
asking for help
the prescription is right there
on those
vomit and allergies
sleep a while
let your dreams tell the story
let that voice tell you where you are
and where must you
go
next time
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Second chance
It feels like its the first time..
It feels just like the first time..... I feel like I'm frozen in time
I feel that pure love devine.......
You wrapped your arms around me..
Your telling me this is your second chance..
You picked me up when I was broken.
You touched my heart and made whole again...
This time it feels I have forgotten about all the pain
It feels just like the first time..... I feel like I'm frozen in time. I feel that pure love devine......
You wrapped your arms around me..
Your telling me this is your second chance..
You picked me up when I was broken.
You touched my heart and made whole again...
Thinking of the past that is behind me, it makes me stronger..
Can I destroy those thoughts in my head? Those lies telling me your not whole again...........
It feels like its the first time..
It feels just like the first time..... I feel like I'm frozen in time
I feel that pure love devine.......
You wrapped your arms around me..
Your telling me this is your second chance..
You picked me up when I was broken.
You touched my heart and made whole again...
Starting my life over with you by my side..
Getting used to that fact that I need you. Never needed anyone before..
poem by Sita Cabrera
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343
It is the moment when you kiss me
And hug me that I feel the pain
Thinking all the while
In said close, tender moment
The shortness of space
Between us
The acceptance that the kiss
The passion shall be short
Time kills
Time buries me again
On the widening space of emptiness
We left behind us
When you close your eyes
And without a word
You shall go
And be in the arms that own you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You are never mine
It is the moment when you kiss me
And hug me that I feel the pain
Thinking all the while
In said close, tender moment
The shortness of space
Between us
The acceptance that the kiss
The passion shall be short
Time kills
Time buries me again
On the widening space of emptiness
We left behind us
When you close your eyes
And without a word
You shall go
And be in the arms that own you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do Not Fear....
LAST night you panicked
about the tsunami news
that is real
you have seen the video on the news
at BBC
THIS thing does not
shake me
i have trust on the earth
where we live
daily
The earth will always be a big thing
and we are its miniatures
My body is like the earth
and the Earth is my body
Thus when the earth shakes
it is because it is feverish
on a certain infection
its sea must have been polluted
with nuclear waste
Thus when the earth moves its belly
and creates the tsunami
it is because
it is bathing
to cleanse itself
from accumulated dirt
and other extraneous
destructive matters
Or it is only
doing this on a routinized
basis
self-checking and
counter-checking
its Own State of Affairs
The EARTH
has a mind and body of
its own
It heals itself too
Every moment
in Every movement
The Law of Nature
Removes what destroys Itself
It vomits what poisons It
It excludes what pains it
It expels what it does not
Need
That is basic
Everything happens
because it is Good
Last night
You wrap your whole body
with that thick blanket
You hardly had a
good breathing
I know
You never really had that
nice sleep
that I am always enjoying
You bet
Now wake up early
Open the Windows of your House
Witness the unfolding of Light before your very eyes
How nature dresses and undresses itself
INTO such a beauty
Charming and magical
Its poise
The way how light bends and
Walks the isles
and Leaves and Fades
and Comes back again
IN another set of hues
and freshness of its
air
her hairs caressing
all of us
here
The rising sun
the glamorous sea
The white dots of seagulls dotting the sky blue sea
The boats afloat
and the children jumping for their
usual dives and baths
On a little ponderous moment like this
Feel the love that this Earth has given us for free
Daily
Because after it has cleansed itself
It becomes another scented Lady
or Mother or Lover
or Friend
Ready to embrace you Again
To show how lovely you too has become
This
In all Mutuality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Re Viewing A Broken Hear
t is the moment when you kiss me
And hug me that I feel the pain
Thinking all the while
In said close, tender moment
The shortness of space
The end of time
Between us
The acceptance that the kiss is a marker
of our defeat
The passion shall be short
Time kills
Time buries me again
on the sands of regrets
On the widening space of emptiness
We shall left behind us
That need for more explanations
When you close your eyes
And without a word
You shall go
And be in the arms of the man
that now completely owns you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Last Hour....
incoherent
hour
nostalgia vomiting
nostalgia
hands wrap your
body of
hands
desire is gone
welcome
total blankness
you leave everything
to God to
God
switch to switch
turns off.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode To The 'x' World....
in his life
one moment
he saw two colors of same light
mixing
in the darkness of
his room
there is joy
in the fusion of that sameness
in tones and
depth
no one is watching it with
delight
except him
perhaps it is that sameness within him
that puts the
understanding of
extreme bliss
the rest of the shadows there
left
and outside the room
he hears the sound of
vomit
there is indeed a big difference
a wide gap
a chasm
that is what they only see
and they conclude
there is no love in that chasm
but only use
and disuse
there is nothing gentle in there
but force
with so much begging for more
understanding
that one may simply have to close
two eyes and feel
and forget and be lost in another
world
where no one seems to survive
there is this prison where one wants to
stay forever
because outside its walls
what can exist is only discrimination
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother -3
When you talk about
Vomiting or lack of hunger
Or the energy and stamina
Betraying you
The Sunset begins
To haunt me.
poem by Bhartendu Second
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Sometimes When I Have Nothing To Say
sometimes when i have nothing to say
like the silence of the closed window
or the nights on the grass
or the twinkle of the stars... i feel so full
and when i get so full, i feel like
vomiting my existence,
i am nauseous to this hiding, sometimes
i want to say it all, and then i become so empty
and when empty i float, i feel like i am nothing but air,
and then i surrender again
to the walls.... talking and talking to the walls
and i do not really care about the rumors that they have ears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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