The Blind Woman........
it is brazen
candid, straightforward
there is no wink in the eye
and so you
believe it
to be the truth
and then you decide about
fate
of this
simpleton
who is defended by
another simpleton
upon a crime that the did not commit
but which he cannot prove
your eyes are hiding
behind those thick eyeglasses
they are not responsible
when you
finally speak about
death
the rest believe you
because behind you are the cabinets
of books
old books, filled with dusts
all over their hard covers
you are
a blind woman
speaking
with that firm
voice
like steel
in rusty tones
rabid
as a dog.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mayor Of Simpleton
Never been near a university,
never took a paper or a learned degree,
and some of your friends think that's stupid of me,
but it's nothing that I care about.
Well I don't know how to tell the weight of the sun,
and of mathematics well I want none,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.
When their logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
you'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
I can't have been there when brains were handed round,
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton)
or get past the cover of your books profound,
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton)
and some of your friends thinks it's really unsound that
you're ever seen talking to me.
Well I don't know how to write a big hit song,
and all crossword puzzles well I just shun,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.
I'm not proud of the fact that I never learned much,
just feel I should say,
what you get is all real I can't put on an act,
it takes brains to do that anyway. (And anyway...)
And I can't unravel riddles, problems and puns,
how the home computer has me on the run,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you (I love you).
If depth of feeling is a currency,
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton)
then I'm the man who grew the money tree.
(no chain of office and no hope of getting one)
Some of your friends are too brainy to see that they're paupers
and that's how they'll stay.
Well I don't know how many pounds make up a ton
of all the Nobel prizes that I've never won,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one things and that's I love you.
When all logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
you'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor.
(Please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton.)
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mayor Of Simpleton
Never been near a university,
never took a paper or a learned degree,
and some of your friends think that's stupid of me,
but it's nothing that I care about.
Well I don't know how to tell the weight of the sun,
and of mathematics well I want none,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.
When their logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
you'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
I can't have been there when brains were handed round,
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton)
or get past the cover of your books profound,
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton)
and some of your friends thinks it's really unsound that
you're ever seen talking to me.
Well I don't know how to write a big hit song,
and all crossword puzzles well I just shun,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.
I'm not proud of the fact that I never learned much,
just feel I should say,
what you get is all real I can't put on an act,
it takes brains to do that anyway. (And anyway...)
And I can't unravel riddles, problems and puns,
how the home computer has me on the run,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you (I love you).
If depth of feeling is a currency,
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton)
then I'm the man who grew the money tree.
(no chain of office and no hope of getting one)
Some of your friends are too brainy to see that they're paupers
and that's how they'll stay.
Well I don't know how many pounds make up a ton
of all the Nobel prizes that I've never won,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one things and that's I love you.
When all logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
you'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor.
(Please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton.)
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mayor Of Simpleton
Never been near a university,
Never took a paper or a learned degree,
And some of your friends think thats stupid of me,
But its nothing that I care about.
Well I dont know how to tell the weight of the sun,
And of mathematics well I want none,
And I may be the mayor of simpleton,
But I know one thing,
And thats I love you.
When their logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
Youll be warm in the arms of the mayor of simpleton.
I cant have been there when brains were handed round
(please be upstanding for the mayor of simpleton),
Or get past the cover of your books profound,
(please be upstanding for the mayor of simpleton),
And some of your friends thinks its really unsound,
That youre ever seen talking to me.
Well I dont know how to write a big hit song,
And all crossword puzzles well I just shun,
And I may be the mayor of simpleton,
But I know one thing,
And thats I love you.
Im not proud of the fact that I never learned much,
Just feel I should say,
What you get is all real,
I cant put on an act,
It takes brains to do that anyway. (and anyway...)
And I cant unravel riddles, problems and puns,
How the home computer has me on the run,
And I may be the mayor of simpleton,
But I know one thing,
And thats I love you (I love you).
If depth of feeling is a currency,
(please be upstanding for the mayor of simpleton),
Then Im the man who grew the money tree,
(no chain of office and no hope of getting one).
Some of your friends are too brainy to see,
That theyre paupers and thats how theyll stay.
Well I dont know how many pounds make up a ton,
Of all the nobel prizes that Ive never won,
And I may be the mayor of simpleton,
But I know one thing,
And thats I love you.
When all logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
Youll be warm in the arms of the mayor of simpleton.
Youll be warm in the arms of the mayor of simpleton.
Youll be warm in the arms of the mayor.
(please be upstanding for the mayor of simpleton.)
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second Hand Books
Books! Books! Books! There are so many different designs.
There are some which, by the author, are personally signed.
Some books have pages with gilt edges, which look all posh.
Some have nice pictures on their covers, which are embossed.
Some books have hard covers, while some have soft.
Some are all dusty, where they’ve been kept in the loft.
Some books have fancy covers; some just have plain.
Some have suffered mishaps, and are now all stained.
Some books are all dog-eared at the corners of their pages.
Some have gone yellow, where they’ve been around ages.
Inside some books, there can be seen a pencilled name;
Someone, who once, on this particular book, had a claim.
Some are obviously well read; their spines are all creased.
From out of a book, amazing adventures can be unleashed.
Some books have pages which are spoiled or a bit torn.
Some have covers which are grubby and look well worn.
Some just have text, while others also include illustrations.
Some are former prize winners; once the toast of the nation.
There are books by famous authors, as well as the lesser known.
Some are former library books which, to the public, were loaned.
There are romances, poetry, classics, sci-fi, humour, and histories;
Gardening, cookery, travel, thrillers, manga, and murder mysteries.
In wooden bookcases, the books are categorised, and are neatly lined.
In a second hand bookshop, you just never know what you may find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The William Challenge
steel cabinets have always been
closed and cold
that's where treasures are kept
and dandruffs are what steel
cabinets are made of,
rusty feelings, exclusions of
the hairsplitting documents
and last wills, they all belong there
you get dandruff from so much
worries, afraid to take the plunge
the warm bath, and steel cabinets
are pretty much like that,
afraid to open, keeping things
to themselves, locked in their own
selves,
now you must write about
something not about love
if you're not convinced
about the worth and
necessity of writing
about it.
try hate.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ronnie
My friend Ronnie when he
retired as literature teacher invested
his money in books
he bought crates and crates of
books from the United States
and brought them
to the Philippines
to include a number of his favorite
poetry books bearing such authors
as frost, walt, derek, etcetera
and he invites me in
for some hours
as he loves to read these poems aloud
and discuss the meaning of
each metaphor
for he is a poet in his own little way
a right he claims somehow
and modesty aside i also write some
published sometimes
and he finds me
a compliment to this blank spaces
and so we indulge in this higher
state of literary affairs until he could not
accept that i know more about
his favorite poet than he does
i mean, i know it by heart
he sometimes gets away from this kind of loving
until he gets offended and shies away
from my own way of
intellectual desperation
he did not invite me anymore
his books took the revenge
letting in more dusts more dusts more dusts
with no finger prints
until he died, his greed for books went with him
the books that till date,
remained virgins.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Outside
Sunshines
Are you outside
I am a simpleton by choice not speaking to hear my voice
Sunshines
Why are you sleeping
Gotta get outside
Cover the ground on foot
Not hithing around your spur
Over the river and trough the woods
I've come this far to bring in the goods
I get high
song performed by by 311
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Willie Pennington
They called me the weakling, the simpleton,
For my brothers were strong and beautiful,
While I, the last child of parents who had aged,
Inherited only their residue of power.
But they, my brothers, were eaten up
In the fury of the flesh, which I had not,
Made pulp in the activity of the senses, which I had not,
Hardened by the growth of the lusts, which I had not,
Though making names and riches for themselves.
Then I, the weak one, the simpleton,
Resting in a little corner of life,
Saw a vision, and through me many saw the vision,
Not knowing it was through me.
Thus a tree sprang
From me, a mustard seed.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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On Speaking The Truth
I have heard many times,
Of my elders speaking this,
Speak truth even ye commit crimes,
And please God by doing this,
If the truth you always speak,
Your head will he high like a peak.
The most senior in saints of all,
And Abdul Qadir was his name,
Advised his mother telling not lies at all,
And obedient son did the same,
Before the robbers the truth he quoth,
Its result, to mend they took oath.
No doubt speaking the truth is hard,
Like the steam from the water,
But hearing the truth is too much hard,
Like from steam being water,
I be hardly recognized by thee,
My mostly friends are against me.
That he be happy like skylark,
On muddy ground does never land,
Reaching his nest before being dark,
So never he falls on the sand,
And can soar does where he desire,
No stain is there on his attire.
For a truth many lies be told,
Like the sun by clouds hidden,
And as smuggling the precious gold,
But, miraj ends at all of sudden,
When curtain removes from the sin,
The truth will certainly win.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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You Want Me To Simplify My Life..to Be
to be just
simple and say clearly what i what you to understand
less words perhaps
no signs no picture even
just a glance or a touch or a tap on the shoulder
to be direct, candid, straighforward
to tell the truth, this truth and nothing but the truth
no words
how can i tell you? how can i give you the signs
how can i be direct and candid and straightforward
how can i ever tell the truth
when all these years i do not know anymore
about anything
when what i know is only to survive
at all costs
do you think that i still have the truth or the courage to tell you
about it
the truth? do you really need the truth inorder to live?
tell me, why and what?
learn first and teach me how
let us perhaps begin again from the time when we were born
from the time when we first give them our
big cry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Our Level Of Responsibility!
our level of responsibility
far deeper than our occasional
stabs at compassion, and truth...
when we sit down to eat, and eat
far more than we need, and throw
the leftovers out... we are
responsible fot the hungry!
when we go to sleep at night, in
houses too big and too plush, we
are responsible for the homeless...
when we drive our SUV's around for
no reason at all, burning excess
gas, we are responsible for the
oil spills...
when we vote people in office,
whose agenda is profit at all costs,
we are responsible for countries
invaded...
when we turn our backs and walk away,
or stick our heads in the sand, we are
responsible for the loss of human rights...
when we allow the banning of books, and
legislation against free speech, we are
responsible for ignorance, and allow
ourselves to be enslaved!
responsible, every thought, every intent,
every action!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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To the Departed Soul of my dear friend KASTHURI-Poem-1
To the departed soul
of my dear friend
KASTHURI
POEM -1
Oh! my Kasthuri!
My dear, dear friend!
My beloved, revered, a God-send!
I know not
What sin of any sort
I ever did commit, even in thought
To lose you,
A gem of lives few
Who attained full nobility true!
To your duty tightly tied,
You were kindness personified,
With simplicity swinging in your stride!
Beauty you ardently loved,
Gulping it to your heart's content, you roved,
But by fate's cruel hand were you shoved!
Books and books you read,
All day your eyes on them, you shed,
Peace they instilled even in thy death-bed!
A loving dear indeed!
My heart's fond friend in need;
From Death's icy hands, her life I couldn't plead!
Wherever can I find
A true friend of thy kind
Taking my heart behind? .
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Dad and Me
Inside our house you'll find crannies and nooks.
Crevices and cracks and fissures and books!
Books under the bed and on the floor,
Books around the table and beside the door,
Books on the bookshelf and surrounding it,
Books all over the house, every single bit!
Not a one of these books are non-fiction,
Different worlds are their depiction.
Fictional, sci-fi, dark and fantasy,
Horror and happy, more books for me!
Books belonging to my father,
Or belonging to me as I rather.
My father and I in bookworm heaven,
Until mum cleans up around half past seven.
She throws the books in a huff,
Says it's a mess and to clean it up!
Well dad and I try to clean,
But on the work we quickly wean
And in one of the larger nooks
You'll find dad and me reading our books.
poem by Lenore Lee
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You And I In This Little Nook...
your life is never an
empty page, every-days are
scribbles
figures and landscapes of
hills and buffaloes and
waters making
the usual turns on the hillsides
there are blue clouds
caressing treetops,
birds never rest, and the air
keeps on blowing beyond
the edges of
your margins
i am putting sounds, music,
strings, colors,
i am letting the ears of your
books hear,
i am speaking in some chapters,
want you to
to be be bold and firm
like me
hard cover, book bound.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Academic Life
one sometimes fear
leaving an academic life
seeing the world
through a thick reading eyeglass
sleeping with books
surfing on the net
writing treatises and
too legalese
side tripping with literature
and floating with
poems on wild imaginations
on the clouds of puff
and huff
one fears that after
sleeping with books
night after night
dating with the lampshade
headboard
one finally loses what is more
important
than these prints and
paragraphs
when finally she is gone
dating real people that she can touch
and feel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Marilyn, Merry and Mariam
Working at Barnes & Noble in City Place,
books, c.d.’s and gifts filled the space.
I was a bookseller and liked books a lot,
I helped customers find books, I gave it my best shot.
I worked with Jennine, who sold books like you never seen.
My managers were Marilyn, Merry and Mariam Volk,
I never complained to them or bulked.
I kept busy putting books away,
I loved to watch kids in the kid section play.
I worked with Luz Cruz, her name rhymes with Blue’s Clues.
She is a really great bookseller, she works there till this day,
she always greets you with a smile and has a kind thing to say.
Only Luz is the last employee left from my crew,
unless Kao is still there working very hard too.
Page who helped me do readings with stories of make believe,
she went to Fort Lauderdale,
while Jim in receiving went to Boynton Beach.
Kim is now married and has another child,
she helped me get my books in the store for awhile.
Now it was fun experience while I was there,
happy memories I can share.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Just When The Rain Stops
just when the rain stops
something within you stops too
the misery of being
confined in the small prison of
your thoughts
you find a window
and this wide door and you grope
for the key
to open something closed
days ago
you breathe the sea breeze
and take some salt of
life and you
release your sighs like
an earned ire
you take freedom finally
letting go your fingers and hands
your feet dance
go, go, go
your books on the table make the
cheering squad
out there
nature wants to be read
the books close finally
their pages like tongues
hide behind the thick glossy
hardbound cover
you are not a fool finally
touching the maps drawn
by the falling rain
welcome to the world
the trees tell you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Off to The Library Again
There she is again
Putting books back
In the right section
All nice and neat.
Then she turns
And smiles at me.
'Hi, found what your
Looking for? '
I think to myself,
Yes she's standing
Right in front of me.
But I bottle out,
And decide to play it cool,
'No, have you any new
Football books in? '
Bet she thinks ı'm
A right saddo now?
Sounded about ten years old.
But to my delight she tells
Me she's a football fan too,
And we chat for ages stood
In front of the football annuals.
Then an old lady pushes in
And wants to know where the
Mills and Boon books are,
So off she goes looking
For romance and passion.
I wait until she's at the desk
She looks at me and smiles
When she's stamping my books,
She's left her mark on me that's for sure.
I tell her to have a nice day,
And she replies and you,
And tells me to enjoy my books,
I wonder what time the library
Opens in the morning?
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Are Old Now.
when i step into the room
i could have told you
but you are the one always speaking
'the king can do no wrong'
i look at the pile of books
silent damn books
i am following your footsteps
into that
hateful anonymity
when time brings us all here
we are told
we have not really done anything great
the books of our lives
will be consisting of empty pages
you were so engrossed in speaking
and i am lost in my
boredom
i was thinking of those that have not arrived here
those who have also given
hope like me but they are still in some unknown places
i turned off my cell phone
this time i must confront the void
into speechlessness
into my failures
for what i have not done
before i left the room i took one book
it is not that the king can do no wrong
there is no king.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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