Paranaque
there is an old dog
white and stinking
its chains are made of silver
its ribs protrude from the side of its belly
it has a house with a red tin roof
its head touches it when it sits
upon a cemented floor
its master is an unmarried man
who is always away on vacation
this dog does not need milk or bread
or bone
it is dead
a long time ago
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A House Without Stairs
do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore
without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me
take the roof
if you want
or the beams
or even the floor and window frames
my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling
whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead
crushed to the death of
our imaginations
a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming
the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tommy's Dead
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Poetics 9...
beyond this house
where we live
more or less
ten meters away
lies my neighbor's house
painted white
with a blue roof
and magenta windows
some walls are made
of glass
honesty there is peace
among us
who are still on unspeakable
terms
on good fences
higher than ever
we have become
perfect neighbors
there is independence
when fire breaks
we are ready with our own
pails already
filled with stinking water
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To The Genius Of His House
Command the roof, great Genius, and from thence
Into this house pour down thy influence,
That through each room a golden pipe may run
Of living water by thy benizon;
Fulfil the larders, and with strength'ning bread
Be ever-more these bins replenished.
Next, like a bishop consecrate my ground,
That lucky fairies here may dance their round;
And, after that, lay down some silver pence,
The master's charge and care to recompence.
Charm then the chambers; make the beds for ease,
More than for peevish pining sicknesses;
Fix the foundation fast, and let the roof
Grow old with time, but yet keep weather-proof.
poem by Robert Herrick
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After School Tea.
Mother said
you were to go back
to Mrs Clark's house
for tea after school
and she would pick
you up later
after work
and so when
the bell went
for the end
of the school day
you went with Mrs Clark
and her daughter Helen
for tea and Mrs Clark
talked all the way
to her house
her words rough
as hewn stones
going over your head
to which you just nodded
or shook your head
and when you arrived
at the house
which smelt
of past dinners
and washing drying
and the baby's nappies
she said
What would you like for tea?
Bread and butter
bread jam
bread and Bovril
or dripping?
and how about
a large mug of tea?
Helen said
I'm having bread and jam
and a mug of tea
why don't you too?
you said
Yes that will be fine
and shyly sat in a chair
by the window
looking out
at the backyard
where washing hung
on a clothesline
and an old doll's pram
sat rusting by a wall
and Helen came
and sat next to you
in her grey skirt
and off white blouse
and swung her legs
back and forth
under the chair
her white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes
coming in
and going out
of view
and she said
After tea
I'll show you my dolls
and the doll's house
my daddy made
out of orange boxes
and as Mrs Clark
made the tea
you sensed Helen's small hand
run along your arm
which set alarm bells ringing
in your head
and a sweating in your palm.
poem by Terry Collett
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Pals
Take a hold now
On the silver handles here,
Six silver handles,
One for each of his old pals.
Take hold
And lift him down the stairs,
Put him on the rollers
Over the floor of the hearse.
Take him on the last haul,
To the cold straight house,
The level even house,
To the last house of all.
The dead say nothing
And the dead know much
And the dead hold under their tongues
A locked-up story.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Given The Dog A Bone
She take you down easy
Going down to her knees
Going down to the devil
Down down to ninety degrees
Oh, shes blowing me crazy
Till my ammunition is dry
Oh, shes using her head again
Shes using her head
Oh, shes using her head again
Chorus:
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Yeow
Shes no mona lisa
No, shes no playboy star
But shell send you to heaven
Then explode you to mars
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head again
Shes using her head
Using her head again
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head
Chorus
Lets go
Oooh, oh, oh, oh
She got the power of union
Yeah, she only hits when its hot
And if she likes what youre doing
Yeah, shell give you alot
(given everything she got)
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a given a dog
Givin a dog
Givin a dog
Ooooh
Im just a givin a dog a bone
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bug A Boo (Refugee Camp Remix)
[Wyclef:]
(Everybody on the floor)
East Side
(Everybody on the floor)
South Side
(Everybody on the floor)
North Side
(Everybody on the floor)
West Side
(Everybody on the floor)
[Beyonce:]
We told you we was gonna give it to you raw
(Everybody on the floor)
We ain't do it right the first time
(Everybody on the floor)
We gonna do it right the second time
(Everybody on the floor)
You make me wanna throw my pager out the window
Tell MCI to cut the phone poles
Break my lease so I can move
'Cause you a bug a boo
song performed by by Destiny's Child from This Is The Remix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Beside Me
now we are sailing on a
bamboo raft
floating on a silk river
bound to the other
side
except for the man
with a long bamboo pole
to touch the floor
and push us more
there is this man
beside me murmuring
his face is covered
by the shadow of his
big straw hat
the natives respect
him thinking that he
is god sent
knowing the words of
the mountain gods
who give them rain
after the drought
he chatters the song
of the cicadas
he murmurs the heaves
of the rain
finally he stops and
hands in the silence
of the rocks
that protrude in the
middle of the river
the waters rise
flood rages on
and i begin to hear
another song
of the incoming storm
then we arrive at the other
side of the river
this time we have become
one in the fold of the
fury asking the protection
of the mountain's belly
the morning news shall
tell about two men who
are fuming the seeds of
discontent of the plains
and the city
we have no names here
just coincidences
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Elevator
1st floor decide what you'll be one day
With a head full of comment and nothing to say
2nd floor mixed up it happens that way
Soon you realize that listening don't pay
3rd floor in limbo, no easy moves
Up or down it's time to choose
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut
Too late we're full just hang around
It won't be long - it won't be long before it's down
4th floor the job hunt and all that you ask
Is an honest day's pay for an honest day's graft
5th floor you may make a little more money
Now it's apparent downstairs ain't so fuuny
6th floor a mortgage, a collar and tie
2 weeks vacation in june or july
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut ....
7th floor expenses and private schools
Pushing a pen you're not turning the tools
8th floor position, respect and acclaim
Move up the 9th for fortune or fame
10th floor for investment and real estate
Recouping the redies before it's tool late
11th floor the penthouse the final cut
With a head full of comment and a mouth that stays shut
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut ....
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Snow White
There once was a girl and if I remember right,
She went by the name of Snow White,
Skin white as the snow, hair black as the night,
She lived with seven men of very short height.
She washed their clothes and prepared their food,
And that’s not all, I’m afraid it gets rude,
Each one she loved and each one she screwed,
Snow white kept the dwarfs in a very good mood.
One day an old hag jealous of what she had,
Fed her an apple which had gone bad,
Then out popped a maggot, Snow White was mad,
Another little man all shrivelled and sad.
All this for a roof above her head,
Now another man to please and take to bed,
She looked at the dwarfs and angrily said,
“I’m moving to the house made of gingerbread.”
Off she went following a path of crumbs,
Sniffing the air and licking her gums,
Pushing Hansel and Grettle into the slums,
Deep into the forest with their two gay mums.
She ran to the house made of biscuit and vanilla,
Excited to see her gorgeous dream fella,
Who she found on the floor with Cinderella,
What the hell was she doing out of the cellar?
Snow White shouted and screamed at the pair,
How could he be shagging her,
She stinks of shit and is covered in hair,
Snow White felt sick just standing there.
Too sad and weak to put up a fight,
She cried herself to sleep that night,
From then on she stayed low and out of sight,
That’s the last I heard of good old Snow White.
poem by Lindsey Ashton
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From The Terrace
White house
brown roof
windows with outsretched arms
speak to my eyes
urging acceptance
Walls lift roof to gray sky
breeze flowing through the columns
floor, not for walking
but for ascending
request my steps
to be uplifted
Arches curve upwards
and downwards
dancing like the waves
invite me to join
all is in place
all agog with excitement
My soul flutters
knees buckle
and answer no
to House built with greed
not sweat of labour
Here I stay
on the terrace
watching house
not Home
blocks and roof
not sweat and contentment
poem by Mark Nwagwu
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This house is war
Amazing voices sing in praise
Of God every morning and night, yet,
This house is war.
We share wonderful jokes, laugh,
Tease one another, yet,
This house is bitter.
We pretend to love; contribute our widows
Might when it is a fellows day,
Yet, our mind habour great evil plots…
I am saddened by this stinking pretense,
I am burdened by this hypocrisy.
The roof have holes, the floor is sticky
And slippery,
Smiles are contrived, friendship is betrayed.
Foods delicious have poison in them,
The hunting team preys on each other; the
Hunter has become the hunted.
We cue to fight one course yet, we
Pour causes on selves.
Some have left this house for peace,
Some lay their lives to expose the
Rottenness of this house, some watch
The house like a movie with the
End unknown.
Some fold their hands and wait…
…waiting for the collapse of this
House.
©2002
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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Silver Strands
I found some silver strands resting on my pillow
Old Mother time taunts me, like dreadful weeping willow
I found more silver long strands dancing on my shoulder
Yes, constant sad reminder; I’m much much older
I found many silver long stands swimming in my shower
Stroking and washing away my youthful flower
Now, I see silver long strands crying on my head
Screaming, no to my youth and yes it is now dead
I hear silver long strands singing on my brush
To validate my years, No-no-no they must hush...
poem by lecie Bailey Jackson
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The Boy And The Snake
Henry was every morning fed
With a full mess of milk and bread.
One day the boy his breakfast took,
And eat it by a purling brook
Which through his mother's orchard ran.
From that time ever when he can
Escape his mother's eye, he there
Takes his food in th'open air.
Finding the child delight to eat
Abroad, and make the grass his seat,
His mother lets him have his way.
With free leave Henry every day
Thither repairs, until she heard
Him talking of a fine grey bird.
This pretty bird, he said, indeed,
Came every day with him to feed,
And it loved him, and loved his milk,
And it was smooth and soft like silk.
His mother thought she'd go and see
What sort of bird this same might be.
So the next morn she follows Harry,
And carefully she sees him carry
Through the long grass his heaped-up mess.
What was her terror and distress,
When she saw the infant take
His bread and milk close to a snake!
Upon the grass he spreads his feast,
And sits down by his frightful guest,
Who had waited for the treat;
And now they both begin to eat.
Fond mother! shriek not, O beware
The least small noise, O have a care-
The least small noise that may be made,
The wily snake will be afraid-
If he hear the lightest sound,
He will inflict th'envenomed wound.
She speaks not, moves not, scarce does breathe,
As she stands the trees beneath;
No sound she utters; and she soon
Sees the child lift up its spoon,
And tap the snake upon the head,
Fearless of harm; and then he said,
As speaking to familiar mate,
'Keep on your own side, do, Grey Pate:'
The snake then to the other side,
As one rebukëd, seems to glide;
And now again advancing nigh,
Again she hears the infant cry,
Tapping the snake, 'Keep further, do;
Mind, Grey Pate, what I say to you.'
The danger's o'er-she sees the boy
(O what a change from fear to joy!)
Rise and bid the snake 'good-bye;'
Says he, 'Our breakfast's done, and I
Will come again to-morrow day:'
Then, lightly tripping, ran away.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Silver Needles
(ian hunter)
Youre just a stranger in the past
Just another mug that could never last
You came up slow but you burned out fast (didnt ya)
It aint silver needles on the run
No it aint silver needles on the run
It aint silver needles on the run
Shh you make me feel so bad
You thought you was the only one that got messed up
Me n all the others never had it so rough
Well how come youre dead and Im still stood up
Well it aint silver needles on the run
Silver needles on the run
No it aint silver needles on the run
Oh I remember....
All your plans were made on some pr floor
n all your bags were packed, they never reached the door.
Out ordering (? ) your thought exchange
All your brains were acting strange
You never lied in dreams before
There must be more to life than getting sore
(what do you think? )
I seen in some music paper that you was gone
And I went right out and wrote you a farewell song
Boy, they had you dead before you was born
And its a shame - you were such a great mover
But it aint silver needles on the run
No it aint silver needles on the run
Silver needles on the run
Silver needles on the run
Silver needles on the run
Silver needles on the run
(next)
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Those Who Love Most
time has become so detailed
the wall clock ticks and tacks and not just on two hands
there are many sensitive fingers now that rotate around its white belly
of paper and lines have become long and enumerable,
each sound has become delicate
caressing each dash of the second
always taking into consideration what the wall feels
what the roof sees
what all these floors are up to
they do not stop anymore fearing death
the thief who steals all when he comes
like fire consuming the house
not leaving even a stone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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THE GLOOMY NEWS (After rhe big earthquake in 1930s)
there is a bird in Erzincan province
no silver no silver on her wings
my beloved gone..never came back again
no hope of her returning from now on
oh high mountains..high mountains..oh..high mountains
taking its bloody head in its hands
in the middle of the white wild snow
the province ERZİ NCAN weeps in tears
if it did not weep who would have weeped like that
the snow falls in abundance, in flakes to the ground
some say it is a brizzard which comes and passes
but ı cannot say that too
the dead
lying..shoulder to shoulder..side by side
cannot talk and chat
cannot burn their fires at night
the dawn brightens, the sun rises...the horizon enlightens
but noone to get water goes
with their heads pressed heavily down..the dead
slept in their unawakable sleeps..may be dream
from its white stone addressing to the night
the military barracks's clock struck the time as two
how quick..how instant ended the living and the life
some in their six months
some with white beards
some in thirteen..may be fourteen
some intended to go for merry voyage
some waiting for a letter in hope
the dead...lying side by side..shoulder to shoulder
in the churn there was butter
but could not be beaten and never
and the white cheeses ready could not be put into bags
the dead gone in longing and in thirst
they were not satisfied and never got satisfaction of the world
they could not wake up and escape
not being a bird could not fly away
the wells opened for them to save
but nobody could afford to descend
the horses of erzincan walk in ampling on
but the dead could not be able to ride on
the dead..lying side by side..shoulder to shoulder on ground
P.S.I had nothing to give in my purse
but ı wrote a poem from my heart not to get it worse
Nazı m Hİ KMET
Translation metin Ş AHIN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Death Of The Innocent Whore
she submits to the
hold of the chains
hoping to regain her
freedom that he once
took away from her
soon, soon, she keeps
telling herself
the iron chains tighten
on her arms
soon, soon, she keeps
telling her body
gyrating to the feast
of his drunkenness
to Bacchus he cheers
till dusk
until one day a dead woman
lies dead on the floor
bathed in her own blood
she finally got
what she had long sought.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Exception
I dance upon the wash-house roof,
And fill my hair with straws,
And from my fellows keep aloof.
I'll tell you why. because
The glare in every eye I see,
I hear their talk inane;
For, sure as two and two are three,
All, all are mad as mad can be,
And I alone am sane.
Jones says, if we grow too much bread
The people may not eat;
And Smith declares in nervous dread,
More boots mean more bare feet.
Black says the price of gold must jump
Ere men was rich again.
White says the price of gold must slump;
For all the world is off its chump,
And I alone am sane.
I laugh and stand upon my head
Upon the wash-house roof.
If such an act men did not dread,
I'm sure and certain proof
They'd see me right side up. Why not?
The thing's as plain as plain.
But they look grave and gabble rot,
For all the world is off its dot,
And I alone am sane.
I am the great economist;
I stick straws in my locks;
For I've the truth that all have missed
In this world's paradox.
If all mankind would but agree
(Here lies our only hope)
That two and two must equal three,
They'd all grow sane again, like me;
And I'd stop chewing soap.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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