The Brown's Man's Nocturnal Anxieties
brown man with thick lips
flat nose and bold eyelashes
your face rests on your right arm
you need sleep
you can't
tomorrow is still filled
with anxiety
the night will be insomniac
your eyes are suspicious always
when the lights are finally turned off.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Is Homely
she is homely
heavy legs, dead toenails,
crooked limbs, thick lips,
round eyes like a
soccer ball,
twisted, twitching face,
wild eyebrows,
entangled hair,
rough skin,
flat nose,
by all means she
is not like the rest
who are lovable
but i know you noble
man loving a
betty la fea,
for if you do not love
her,
who may ever can?
thanks to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Finally Found My Way
So many people tried to help me on my way
So little time and there's still so much left to say
There's no explaining all the things that I've been through
But I've finally fount my way to you
I finally found my way to you
Now the day is endhing and the night begins to fall
Sometimes I wonder if I'll make it back at all
I gave up everything I had and ever knew
But I finally found my way
Finally found my way
I finally found my way to you
Remember how we used to hide away
We'd share the secrets of our souls
Turn down the lights and dance the night away
We'd dance the night away
We'd dance the night away
Remember how we used to hide away
We'd share the secret's of our souls
Turned down the lights and dance the
Night away
We'd dance the night away
We'd dance the night away
Remember how we used to hide away
We'd dance the night away
We'd dance the night away
And now I'll hold you like I never have before
I'll let you go just long enough to lock that door
The words I whisper come so late and overdue
But I finally found my way, I finally found my way
I finally found my way to you
To you baby
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Supremacy is the beauty
Chubby lips, plump cheeks, massive breasts, fleshy buttocks,
Blunt nose, hairy skin, coarse hair and black eyes
Are the features the Dravidians inherited from the Negros.
Thin lips, flat cheeks, rounded breasts, slated buttocks,
Long nose, pale skin, silky hair and brown eyes
Are the features Aryan inherited from the White race.
Aryans are held beautiful by their cultural supremacy.
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
poem by Jack Prelutsky
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Insomniac
Insomniac sit
With your head on your pillow
And think of the girl who
Lies 'neath the willow
The girl is much more
Much more than she seems
As she longs with a yearning
To reclaim her lost dreams
It's midnight and dark
And she sits there to cry
And hoping and thinking
And planning to die
What good can you do
When you cannot sleep
And you can't ask for help
You can't make a peep
So insomniac lay in
Your cold empty bed
Close your eyes
And lie with the dead
Insomniac rest with
Your corpse in the ground
Your soul is at peace
It won't make a sound
And the willow will stand
In the cold blustery night
Fighting the battles
That you cannot fight
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Before I Close my Eyes
Before I close my eyes to sleep the last sound I must hear is your voice saying I love you.
Before I close my eyes to sleep the last thing my lips must press up against is yours.
Before I close my eyes to sleep the last thing my eyes must gaze upon in yours.
Before I close my eyes to sleep the last touch I must feel is the warmth of your embrace.
I must do all these things before I close my eyes every night because tomorrow is not promise, and if tonight should be my last night I want it to end with you.
The Most Visible Mask
you have loved the most visible mask i have
my face
everyday, this face, tomorrow this face, yesterday
this face
you are proud of my nose, and you tell all your friends about
it
aquiline, conquest of a nose, occupying almost all parts
of your territory
not even the hands but this face
the mouth that eats you
the eyes that close when
i kiss you
the tongue that maps out
what has to be found when lost
this face, the most visible mask
inside
is the real face, the face of my mind
it is thinking something else
all these years
the invisible mask is silent
tomorrow shall be the scorn
you must bear it,
you are fond of the most visible
though not really enduring.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life's Hebe
IN the early morning-shine
Of a certain day divine,
I beheld a Maiden stand
With a pitcher in her hand;
Whence she poured into a cup
Until it was half filled up
Nectar that was golden light
In the cup of crystal bright.
And the first who took the cup
With pure water filled it up;
As he drank then, it was more
Ruddy golden than before:
And he leapt and danced and sang
As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang.
But the next who took the cup
With the red wine filled it up;
What he drank then was in hue
Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept,
Then lay faint but never slept.
And the next who took the cup
With the white milk filled it up;
What he drank at first seemed blood,
Then turned thick and brown as mud:
And he moved away as slow
As a weary ox may go.
But the next who took the cup
With sweet honey filled it up;
Nathless that which he did drink
Was thin fluid black as ink:
As he went he stumbled, soon,
And lay still in deathlike swoon.
She the while without a word
Unto all the cup preferred;
Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed
As each mingled his own draught.
And the next who took the cup
To the sunshine held it up,
Gave it back and did not taste;
It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow,
Then he kissed her on the brow.
But the next who took the cup
Without mixture drank it up;
When she took it back from him
It was full unto the brim:
He with a right bold embrace
Kissed her sweet lips face to face.
Then she sang with blithest cheer:
Who has thirst, come here, come here!
Nectar that is golden light
In the cup of crystal bright,
Nectar that is sunny fire
Warm as warmest heart’s desire:
Pitcher never lacketh more,
Arm is never tired to pour:
Honey, water, milk, or wine
Mingle with the draught divine,
Drink it pure, or drink it not;
Each is free to choose his lot:
Am I old? or am I cold?
Only two have kissed me bold!
She was young and fair and gay
As that young and glorious day.
poem by James Thomson
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Suspicious Look In Your Eyes
(clarke / hicks / nash)
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Somehow at times I read your mind
You just float in a cloud above me
Youve no control of what you say
And no faith in the things that I do
If I question you
Its not because Im prying
I give you my best
So why dont you start trying
We used to act and think alike
No regrets after things that wed done
Youre changing all your thoughts of me
Youve no right to put me down this way
I believe in you
So it seems worth trying
You sound so sincere
But when I look at you
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Break
At times I think it seems so clear
But your eyes plague my mind, its no use
They pierce, they glare, they seem to stare
If they spoke what a story theyd tell
I believe in you
So it seems worth trying
You sound so sincere
But when I look at you
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
Youve got that suspicious look in your eyes
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suffocation
Last night I had the weirdest dream
I dreamt that I was lying in bed
With this girl whose hair was
As black as the night and as
Thick as a forest,
And her hair, her hair was
Smothering me
Or at least, I thought it was
Her hair,
Until I noticed it was her hands
Running over my face,
My lips
My eyes
My cheeks.
As hot as the desert
And smooth as silk
But pressing down
Pressing me into my pillow
Until I could see nothing
But the pink of her skin
And I thought,
Im gunna die
Those hands are gunna
Kill me
Until I realized really,
It wasn’t hands,
But lips,
Sucking the air from mine
Engulfing my last breath
And drawing it into her being
And I thought, well,
At least lips are
A nice way to go
Until finally I came
To my goddamn senses
And I realized,
I realized it wasn’t her lips
But the words coming
From those sweet lips
That was suffocating me
And it was “I love you”
I was choking on
Not her hair, hands or lips
At all.
poem by Nick Downer
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Tantalizing
I have seen that her eyes are sharp.
Her eyes are sharp and attentive
But still I dare not encounter them.
They hold my head captive.
I have seen that her nose is stern.
Her nose is stern and aiming
But still that nose I cannot pinch.
It torments my eyes, straining.
I found that her lips are of flesh.
Her lips are fleshy and amorous
But still the very lips I cannot caress.
They render my lips nervous.
I like her face being slim and slender.
Her face is slim and passionate
But still I cannot claim that of her.
It keeps my brain desolate.
I wonder how nimble her limbs are.
Her limbs are nimble and at hand
But still to touch them I don’t dare.
They set my belly to grind.
I understand that her vibes is strong.
Her vibes is strong and resonant
But still me she chose to tantalize.
She left my soul poignant.
Total reticence from her
Might have been better
Rather than raising hope
And then belying it.
05.05.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day To Die
Buckskin brown eyes stare deep into the fire
Leathery brown faces turn up toward the sky
Sinewy brown muscles tensed up like wire
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
Shell necklace enclosed in long brown fingers
Aquiline nose streaked with red ocher dye
On his brave brown brothers, his gaze achingly lingers
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
Crackling mesquite, sparks rush into the night
Great horned Owl glides over, wind thru wings giving sigh
Wizened warriors look up, brown eyes reflecting firelight
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
Piebald and pinto ponies, ripping sparse desert fare
For pitiful provenance from land so desolate and dry
Long manes brushed by gentle strokes of sage scented air
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
moon light on barrels of heavy, Henry rifles
Pried from stiffened, cold fingers of the whites where they lie
Shiny forty caliber cartridges, and from bloody pockets, bloody bibles
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
Rattlesnake rattle in hand of shriveled old Shaman
Deep, aged Brows wrinkled as if in quest of the why
Old wise man, in curling smoke, sees omens uncommon
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
Ashes to embers, fire sleeps, as do warriors slumber
Sentries seen in silhouette, hear the killdeer’s predawn cry
Warriors rise, apply bold battle stripes of umber
Tomorrow will be a good day to die
Solemn homage to the sun god, the wind and the earth
Monotone prayer with bows held up on high
War pony mounted, adorned with feathery girth
Today…yes today…….
Is a good day to die
poem by David Whalen
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A Portrait Of Tomorrow
get the pen of the present
and take the colors of the past
use the hand that you trust
and begin making
tomorrow's portrait
have the ears of twenty years ago
try listening
if the sound is happy
put them there
and for the nose
smell the sweat of your childhood
those that play so well on the grass
and took the plunge on the clean rivers of your life
if you have that nostalgic feeling
then put that nose there
and how about the mouth and the lips
i think, if i were you
i'll take the teen age years
remembering the first kiss
and the first communion
the sound of a tight embrace
and if you like those happenings
then have those years
as your mouth and lips
and even the teeth
and now for the eyes
those that know really how to see
clearly and probingly
ponderous eyes
where wisdom is embedded
i think if i were you
take it from the present
those that see the past
as a summary
and of course the future
as a plan
specific and determined
strong and willing
and with a stroke of your
skilled hand you put the final
touches of tomorrow's portrait
you see your face and you say
you are beautiful
you caress it and tell yourself
you are lovable
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Like Being Brown
I like being brown
Caramel with red undertones
I love my thick lips and wide nose
I can create kinky masterpieces from my locks
And yes my round hips can be seen for blocks and blocks
These things are part of my culture you see-traits, characteristics
Yet they don't define me
They don't tell you that I don't like to fly
And am sometimes afraid of the dark
You can't tell by them that on Saturdays
I take my son to the park
My intelligence cannot be seen in the color of my skin
The thickness of my lips does not tell you what kind of person I am
You may assume from my kinky locks that I am a certain 'type'
But only by knowing my heart, can your predictions be right
See whether you are red or tan, white, yellow or brown
With curly or straight hair, eyes slanted or round
Be proud to show love for your culture and your heritage
And celebrate your fellow man as he shows pride in his
poem by Tamika Stubblefield
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Suspicion Is Contageous
Scene 1.
When I feel warm in the middle of the night,
I suspect that electricity is cut off as usual
When I bite a pebble while eating rice,
I suspect that it is adulterated as usual.
When I am denied a seat to the university,
I suspect that I am less eligible than others, as usual.
When I am left to fend on my own with family and friend's support,
I suspect that my country is as useless as I, as usual.
Scene 2.
When I come out with my sling bag and laptop,
I am suspicious of everyone who looks at me.
When I walk to the tube and sit there comfortably,
I close my eyes tightly to avoid the suspicious eyes.
When I enter the workplace and talk to my colleagues,
who are as suspicious as I, exchange the suspicious greetings.
Wherever I go, I see the people who are suspicious of others,
cameras to catch the suspicious looking characters,
unattended bags are removed within half an hour,
for the fear of suspicious people planting bombs,
in some other places literally no rubbish bins,
and I am allowed to throw wherever I like,
and people are watching me always as a suspect,
and that makes me to be suspicious of them too.
When I come out with my sling bag,
I am suspicious of everyone who looka at me.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove
It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.
It is a cool night.
The bird is asleep.
The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.
And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Little Girl With Curly Hair
there is this little girls with black curly hair
flat nose, thin eyelashes, wavy goatish eyelids,
sitting on a bamboo pole
(the common furniture there)
with bare hands and bare feet
staring at me,
for i am new here and i have a big tummy
and i am white skinned, and i have candied
inside my pockets, she knows that soon
i will throw all these candies in the air
for all the other children
but there is something strange about this
little brown girl with curly hair sitting all alone
on that bamboo chair
her father and mother were killed in the last rebellion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Last Dance Rodeo
Your lungs fill up with concrete
Her voice is all you can hear
Red lips and a screwdriver
Wrapped around some mink-clad smear
And you know that shes a diamond
And its damned you for sure (or in this damn juke box hell)
cause fools gold only fools fools
In two-bit hotels.
But shes cooler than all that
Shes a real high-class cat
Shes queen of the last dance rodeo.
But under the gas lamp
The air is thick and velvety
Your bones filled with hunger
Your heart filled with longing
Youre no longer human
Youre an insatiable hole.
You wanna bury your face forever
In the navel of her soul
cause you know ...
All you need is a heart to call home
All you need is a heart to call home
Thats all.
Light bulbs, and nylons
And plastic chandeliers
Objects are only objects,
They cant feel when youre near.
And tangerine lips
And lily-white breasts
These things are eternal
Inside them humanity rests.
The skin is like a seashell
You listen to the soul
Like an old-time radio show.
But under the gas lamp
The air is thick and velvety
Your bones filled with hunger
Your heart filled with longing
Youre no longer human
Youre an insatiable hole.
You wanna bury your face forever
In the navel of her soul
cause you know ...
All you need is a heart to call home
Thats all.
But dont wander too far
On one constant star
Darkness exists, except where you are
Your feet are filled with wandering
They follow your own
cause everywhere you are
Feels like home.
So search all you miners
You hunters of dreams
Look in the alleyways
For what you know is not what it seems
And fame, all you maidens,
It dont exist too long
But at least look behind you
And see your own shadows gone
Dont you know its the last rodeo
You gotta find yourself a cowboy
Or someone to keep you
Warm when it snows.
But under the gas lamp
The air is thick and velvety
Your bones filled with hunger
Your heart filled with longing
Youre no longer human
Youre an insatiable hole.
You wanna bury your face forever
In the navel of her soul
cause you know ...
All you need is a heart to call home
All you need is a heart
All you need is a heart to call home
Thats all.
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Many Lights Do You See?
How many lights do you see?
How many lights do you see?
There's one to say that night has come
And there's one that guards this jagged shore
And there's one to call the children home
And there's one to light the path they take
How many lights do you see?
How many lights do you see?
There's one to keep the shadows off
And there's one that tells me she got home
And there's one to read his novel by
And there's one that warms this dreary room
And there's one to watch the baby sleep
And there's one to count the blinking stars
And there's one that I just can't forget
And there's one that I remember too
How many lights do you see?
How many lights do you see?
There's one that waits for closing time
And there's one that gets left on all night
And there's one that marks the western sky
And it shines down on the quiet street
And there's one that floods the darker parts
And there's one that hurts my tired eyes
And there's one that says she's not asleep
And there's one that waits for her to wake
How many lights do you see?
How many lights do you see?
There is one that spills out on the beach
And it sparkles on the jetting rocks
And there is one that waits for tired ships
That sleep within this tired port
song performed by by Bright Eyes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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012-Saturday Nights...They Ain't The Same!
I used to live for Saturday nights. I'd get all
spiffed up, go to my favorite watering hole,
and drink and dance, till they turned off the lights.
Hell, when they turned off the lights...the night
was just beginning. A bunch of us would go
our for Chinese food, and laugh and eat for
hours more.
The lucky ones would wind up with someone
to go home with-make love like it was gonna
be their last time...curl up and sleep with the
smile still on their face.
Next morning wake to bacon cooking and
someone with a smile...pushing a cup
of coffee your way.
Now, on Saturday Night, I'm grateful for a warm
place to sleep...a decent retirement check...
being in reasonably good health...curling
up under a warm blankets and being surrounded by
the welcomed silence.
I'm especially grateful for not having
to pretend to be something I'm not and
now just doing 'what I want...when I want.'
Nope...Saturday Nights Ain't What They Use To Be.
Tell you a secret. Sometimes I miss them...but most
times I don't.