En.Citatepedia^®.ro

On Being Defrauded...

a poor worker
has overpriced me for his services
demolishing a house
that was burned
the fire that ate a son
and a house-help
the news that froze
almost to death
the whole city

many nights i could not sleep
i dream of robbers and
crocodiles

but then, (on the other hand)
it could simply be
history repeating itself
or just the usual
things that happen because
they are destined to be

got a mirror
see my face and
nod.

i can do the same thing to another next time.
no holds bar.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A House for Four

A house for four

What is it? a house for four
A dingy looking thing
Are there windows? none

What is it? a house for four
Such a palace
Are there greetings? none

What is it? a house for four
Why the space is so small
Is there privacy? none

What is it? a house for four
A dozen creeps could be creeping there
Is there any trust? none

Don't judge me for mine
Poor fool i wont
Even give you the time

Are you judging me?
Your quite the choir
With a cracking voice

And
A tall house that falls
To scrutiny

A house for four and
A house for four
A people of choir and
A people of poor

Do you not recognize
The stains are yours?

A house is not a house
Unless there is more

More and more
Sometimes less is more

poem by Deci Hernandez
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A Blind Sleeping At The Moment

Let's go into the city - housekeeping - Furniture
Preparing for the evening was keen to return to lonely hunter
They wake up in clashes fanatical fire from verified maps

Let's fly ash when burned wreckage burned the city in the old way

I was so impressed with his gust Dancing
The fall of the city burning hatred and sin on fishhook

Law of the long breath inside the house - the doors
I called the water from poverty history - the moon light
The color of the sun to beat each other at all.

poem by by unknown author
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My House

(Paul Overstreet/Al Gore)
My house is no mansion
But it still holds my treasures
Things that will never be sold
Theres a few things in this world
That just can't be measured
By money, by silver and gold
My house is filled with the things that I love
From her smile in the mornin'
To her soft goodnight hugs
Her whisper, her laughter
Everything that she does
My house is filled with the things that I love
This old bed that we sleep on
Don't have satin covers
But it holds some great memories
No decorations can make better lovers
In her arms I feel like a king
My house is filled with the things that I love
From her smile in the mornin'
To her soft goodnight hugs
Her whisper, her laughter
Everything that she does
My house is filled with the things that l love
Yes, my house is filled with the things that I love

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet-All Happen as God Wants

All things of Nature happen in God's ways;
Each seed and frond; each flower and tree-He grows;
All things must happen in His time and days;
Each life is kindled by the Lord, of course.

Man has a part in everything we see;
Yet, Nature takes the upper hand always;
Unexpected things happen too, may be;
God gives His grace to face well if man prays.

And grief and death must also come some day;
Each tumor grows as per the will of God;
All earthlings are destined to die some way;
We come from dust and must go back to clod.

Yet, prayer can make miracles happen;
Just like how fruits enlarge in size, ripen.

poem by John Celes
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Not In My House

[Intro]
St. Louis! {echo}
Stomp stomp stomp stomp {repeated}
This house belongs to who
[Chorus]
Not in my house
You might catch me on the road
But not in my house
It won't happen oh no (oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no)
Not in my house (check me out)
You might catch me on the road
But not in my house
It won't happen oh no (oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no)
[Verse 1]
Check it, check it
Now we've come along way ay (hear me out)
And I know you wanna go some more oh
The only thing keeping you from completin your mission derrty
Is makin it past my door
See I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news
But I simply gotta tell ya I refuse to lose
To continue how you wanna disrespect intended
But it ain't goin down hell nah derrty
[Chorus]
[Verse 2]
Check it, check it
I dropped my mug in the dirt done, you done crossed this line
Me losin tonight, ain't even cross my mind
This my house, and I'm a defend it crush you if need be
Leaving you as an example for other teams to see
Then it be, 2 strikes, 2 outs, no lights
Fourth down, fourth quarter, lookin at a baby order
Fourth period, minute left, down ten, hold ya breath
Pick and roll, back door, game over, told ya so
[Chorus]
Not in my house {4x}

song performed by by Nelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A House called Lonely (A Trilogy in three parts)

There is a street in every town that owns a house
called lonely. Then when your just passing by you might
just say, 'if only.
If only could mean a life time of thoughts but it does'nt cure
a lonely house and all its faults.
Boarded up windows and tiles gone from the roof, graffiti
painted by a rebelious youth.
Such a lonely house and an oh such a tired one,
one that has lost all it's fun.
Stairs and rafters all gone to pot all that is left
is wood worm and dry rot.
No children playing in the garden, it's just a house condemend
by the council without no pardon. Poor lonely house someones
forgotton dream, now describing lifes social scene.
This lonely house stands in the way because their building
a By Pass or a new motorway.
The house called lonely could be any where, in the town, the
country or city square.
Even in your street there's a house called lonely just waiting
for you to say 'if only'

poem by Sylvia Spencer
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House of fire (Lyrics)

House of fire
House of fire, yeah
Let's build a house of fire, baby
Not one of wood or stone
Walk thru my door of desire, baby
Come on in and make it your home
Don't need a window to watch you, baby
Don't need no roof overhead
Don't need no key to unlock ya, baby
I'll use my lovin'instead
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are buildin'a house of fire every time we touch
House of fire
House of fire
We ain't gotta pay rent now, baby
No landlord to throw us out
I want to play in your garden, baby
When you want it give me a shout
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Brick by brick the flames get higher
Build it strong with our desire
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch

poem by Satan's Sibling
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Our House

Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house it has a crowd
Theres always something happening
And its usually quite loud
Our mum shes so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
And a mess is not allowed
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Something tells you that youve got to get away from it
Father gets up late for work
Mother has to iron his shirt
Then she sends the kids to school
Sees them off with a small kiss
Shes the one theyre going to miss
In lots of ways
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
I remember way back then when everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time such a fine time
Such a happy time
And I remember how wed play simply waste the day away
Then wed say nothing would come between us two dreamers
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, that was where we used to sleep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street

song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Morning Greeting

good morning, my friend

hope you're fine like the smooth morning rays of the sun
on soft hands caressing the shiny brown skin of my face

did you sleep well last night? let me ask if you have dreams
that make waking up a regretful event

i am out now for my usual walk to see the usual rising of the sun
on the golden ricefields on the road leading to a group of nipa huts

i am asking myself today: is there meaning to this usualness
this routine that comes to us without any break?
is there something new to the sun that we always expect to shine?
is there a twist to the usual chirps of birds, the usual white color of their wings? is there something better to do than walk and think the usual
thoughts of how to make a living and be the fit person to survive

this war on boredome
this struggle for meaning
this monotonous routine of this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that and this and that

there is no stuttering here, nothing symptomatic of sickness
and even death, there is this boredom again that will make us

not sleep the nights
and make us uneasy and restless and asking some more

what is this life? what is it giving me?
what am i giving it? how long?

just asking, i am returning to the house from this short walk
there is no music in my ears
more questions popping

i will just take tea
i need really to pee.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Story Behind The Fire This Morning

before the house was razed by fire
the old man visited the house and cried
telling me about a young man who promised
that if he ever loves another woman
the house shall be burned
to strip it of its meaning

at 6: 30 today early morning the firemen
called it a day. The house is gone
The old man gone. The young man gone.

i like to write the story behind all these
misfortune
but i am afraid that some parts of it
may not be true
or that if true, it may not be fair at all,
or that it be totally unjust
so that there is no use
writing it anymore

The old woman died a year ago
She floated in air
suffered vertigo
she gave up finally
the young man to the world
heard the promise of the old man
who could not do anything
when the house
got burned.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sleep Here to arise some where!

Life is a dream
only a dream
Not full of cream
Only we scream,

In Joy or pain
All that is vain,
When we lose restrain
We take too much strain,
only to fall in pain!

Life is life all around,
No meaning ever found,
Only going round and round
From space to ground
Ground to space is another
round!

Life has several crew
anyone can any moment screw
Everyone is captain
Aim is to contain
By that restrain,
Love and life simply both teach and Train
Without any strain!

So many people sigh
And say
To hell with this world,
Look into their eyes,
They live in the hell
they are not well, For them nothing is well,
Only like that they tell,
Somewhere their feathered hat
of pride fell!

Life is a dream,
And a dream Only continued indefinitely,
It is dream in which
We feel the difference between
real and dream,
Reality is deep sleep,
And slept long before somewhere,
Arise here to sleep Someday,
Only to awaken in dream!
Death is that sleep,
From this house carries only to
give another house!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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When the Parents Refuse to Come Home

When the parents refuse to come home
The children sleep beneath the babysitter’s skirt.
She will eat you out of house and home.
When the parents refuse to come home
The children shall set the house on fire,
And the babysitter shall save the family pet
That is content to be hand fed at the breast.
This night the parents are outside the loop,
They are out for a night on the town to renew their bound without the incessant want of children who shall burn the house down for attention.
The babysitter is watching TV under the blaze of the burning house where the family pet snicks beneath the smoke colleted by the ceiling.
When the parents stay out all night the children are discontented with the babysitter who have no time for children, she rather babysat the TV.
The babysitter refuse to pay taxes on her earning, she have parked the children in their beds where they learn the art of conversation from the TV.
The parents are having fun while the children are safe in the dream shatter of the right brain telling midnight stories of the day’s doings and the babysitter has invited her boy friend over for the night and he will eat you out of house and home while in their dream the children are buring the house down.
When the parents dance the night away in the night club the children are dreaming of the violent of the babysitter who eat the last of the pot roast left over from dinner.
When the parents refuse to come home the babysitter is contemplating the meaning of death and dying in the burning house.
The babysitter will grow up to become a parent and she will hire a babysitter when she go out to dance the night away as her children burn the house down.

poem by David E. Patton
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Pestilential Solemn

From a deep slumber, a forever rest; lies abreast from me a lowly being.
T'was the same like before who showed no signs of fleeing.
He looked at me with his eyes he glared,
he looked at me with his nostrils flared.
He reached within me and grabbed my soul,
disappearing now into a world of cold.
An ethereal place where nightmare lurks,
as I wonder alone being the berkes.
I stood there edgewise as a crow flew to me,
he showed no fear, from what I could see.
He spoke with a voice so soft and ease,
'Weary traveler, let your trouble seize.'
I am stricken with angst as time before me froze
'What is now to come, but one of many woes? '
The crow before me, glisten and glowed;
forming a mirror, myself it showed.
Upon his chest a darkened hole,
and in his right hand beating, his heart and soul.
He reached with his left, grabbing my arm from the mirror,
my eyesight blurred for a second now is clearer.
He dragged me in as the mirror liquefied,
leaving me alone on the other side.
My body it burned as I looked upon my breast,
my heart was gone, a blackened hole upon my chest;
a beating in my hand with my heart in chains,
agony overwhelms as insanity now reigns.
A ghost beside me, a face like mine;
he laughed and jest as I am benign.
Time still froze while I lay restless,
lost in this dream, nonetheless.

poem by Adam M. Snow
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Ehhh

The man looked up to the sky and shouted
He walked, he ran, he babbled, he cried
The city looked in astonishment at the man’s insane cries for the unknown
He would go home, and turn all the lights out
The city would hear saws, they would hear screams and cries
They believed them to be his own, so no one payed attention
One day, he did not go home, he did not go helplessly to his house
He simply stood and babbled, the name, the name of a man
His voice bore the pain of a fallen angel, they believed him to be possessed
No one payed attention, they simply watched as his actions would change
Instead of working inside his house, the man would tear his house apart.
The next day, when all the walls were gone, and the house retained no security
The city reaped its carelesness
Inside the house, the man kept, bodies
Not only human bodies, but animals.
He would sneak in the deep of the night, and rob graves.

poem by Daniel Schwarz
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I Don't Know If History Repeats Itself

I don't Know if history repeats itself
But I do know that you don't.

I remember that city was divided
Not only between Jews and Arabs,
But Between me and you,
When we were there together.

We made ourselves a womb of dangers
We built ourselves a house of deadening wars
Like men of far north
Who build themselves a safe warm house of deadening ice.

The city has been reunited
But we haven't been there together.
By now I know
That History doesn't repeat itself,
As I always knew that you wouldn't.

poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Golden Rain

There is no Golden rain in real life
But in our dreams you and I see it clear
It falls from the sky
It paints our face golden like the sun
It doesn’t matter in the dream
Because it is only in the dream that can happen
The trees and the flowers and the grass are golden also
Nothing like that would had happen in real life
Because in real life the rain is silver
And our face doesn’t change color with the rain
It only happens in our dream
Weird things happen when we are dreaming
The are no birds to see
What a strange land this is
No house
No cars
No bus
No other people
But you and me
That Golden rain keeps falling non stop
And keep raining down that creek
That Golden rain doesn’t look nice at all
Not even in our dreams
What about the weather
It is cold and miserable
It makes us even more tired
And we want to sleep more
It is happening now in our dreams
And that Golden rain in our dream is not going to hurt us
There is no acid in that Golden rain
And that land in our dream is not polluted like the land in real life

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Rappers of the house of hunger

Rappers of the house of hunger
Why do you rap me out of sleep
So early in the eerie morning?
The loveless day is filled
With dread and anger
The morning asks many questions
The night destroys and give
Only a morsel of the untruth
Who will the neighborhood
Serial killer kill today?
You see
This is what happens when
You apply to live in the city
You remember the chuff girl I
Brought here last time?
Her gray skeleton is
Used as the drinking
Calabash by the drunkard who occupies
The tall grass where you sleep
Death is your constant companion!
You think like those
Banyamulenge
You think bullets cannot penetrate
The fetish of your Bambara man
Mandingo bodies
You will die young
Rappers of the house of hunger
Can't you come up with
A proper African name
For your group of sharecroppers
Rappers of the house of hunger?
Zipping and unzipping like
That don't mean you're original
And the kill the president
Song you plagiarize
Is my own song my brothers and
You don't pay royalties in blood
Rapers of the house of hunger
Don't you know composers who go
Into restaurants with bombs
Strapped to their waists like me
Who creates rap poems
For the pleasure of the libido
And holds
The court of the magistrate of
The house of ill repute in contempt
Have no reputation and they
Don't qualify for anything
I have never won any price in
The form of The Bible in my life
Rappers of the house of hunger
Don't you know homeys
Me and the flying terrapin
Were born like Malcolm X to suffer?
And the government has shown old
Blues man me the scant respect of
The shoving out of the door
And they refuse to love me and
Give me pension in
My junior year of old age
You live off the disputed
Limping proceeds of the illegitimate
Polygamist practice of the poor
Fatherless origins of my music
You take my limpet mines stolen
Legacy poems and you recycle them
Back to me as your own
Rappers of the house of hunger
You will not live to see
The day of the urine's death you
Rappers of the house of hunger

poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Poor House

You walk in, half past nine
Lookin like a queen
Serving me with papers
Calling me obscene
Woman Ive tried so hard
Just to do my best
Theyre gonna put me in the poor house
And youll take all the rest
Up all day, down all night
Working on the job
Everything I do is wrong
I always end up [..]
Woman I try so hard
Done all I can do.
Theyre gonna put me in the poor house
Keep all the best for you.
Ooh, in the poor house
Ooh, in the poor house
If a drove a pulpwood truck
Would you love me more?
Will you bring me diamonds
And hang around my door
Woman, Ive done my best
Theyre aint much left for me
Theyre gonna put me in the poor house
And throw away the key (in the poor house)
Ooh, in the poor house
You walked in, half past nine
Lookin like a queen
Serving me with papers
Calling me obscene
Woman Ive tried so hard
Just to do my best
Theyre gonna put me in the poor house
And youll take all the rest
In the poor house
Ooh, in the poor house
In the poor house
Ooh, in the poor house

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Luck

today his house is burned
everything he has
lost in a matter of a few hours

the body of his only son
wrapped in plastic charred
there is no face of agony to see

and his chamber maid
ashed to death
a face without a hair
a skull with some flesh
the odor is incredible

how much does he owe still
to the gods?

he is drugged to sleep in the hospital
things are not that easy to swallow
bad luck, bad luck, all his friends are telling
this bad luck to each other

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thoughts After Sex

after sex
people sleep

that is the
usual exit that
people who want
to escape seem
to know and do

they sleep

the routine keeps
going like
house, office,
office, house
roads, doors
doors, road

after sex
the usual exit
is closed

you look at the
ceiling trying to
open another
door

but there isn't
any.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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