the man sitting alone at the cafeteria of Perpetual Succor Hosptal
he is black, native Filipino
wears a coat, white polo shirt
fat and big tummy
sipping coffee and alone
a book on the right side of his table
he is not reading it
an attache case is on his left leg
he is at the side of the glass window
of the second floor of this hospital run by nuns
below is the garden of palm trees and
grass and perennial violets and vietnam roses
he is not taking any breakfast
perhaps he is waiting for someone
i sit over a corner fronting him
i am observing the details of his existence
i know it is another sad story
but he is not talking about it
i know there is no use
what for is sharing another story
about life's tragedy?
will it be another story of a husband
contemplating about his next move
what to do with a wife stricken with
breast cancer at stage 4?
i look around
there is another man in shorts
riding on a wheel chair
pushed by a woman in her forties
an old woman, a child crying, etc. etc. etc.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
This Is The Story (Takes 1,2)
I play the song, it was our own
Your photograph's by my side
I know I can't forget you
So I don't even try
The note you left is in my hand
I read again what you say
You're sorry but you love him
And you've both gone away
This is the story of a man
Whose world has fallen apart
And it's the story
That is breaking my heart
An open fire, our favorite chair
I get a book from the shelf
But the words I am reading
Could apply to myself
This is the story of a man
Whose world has fallen apart
And it's the story
That is breaking my heart
Yes, it's the story that is breaking my heart
Yes, it's the story that is breaking my heart
Yes, it's the story that is breaking my heart
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is The Story
(words & music by arnold - morrow - martin)
I play the song, it was our own
Your photographs by my side
I know I cant forget you
So I dont even try
The note you left is in my hand
I read again what you say
Youre sorry but you love him
And youve both gone away
This is the story of a man
Whose world has fallen apart
And its the story
That is breaking my heart
An open fire, our favorite chair
I get a book from the shelf
But the words I am reading
Could apply to myself
This is the story of a man
Whose world has fallen apart
And its the story
That is breaking my heart
Yes, its the story that is breaking my heart
Yes, its the story that is breaking my heart
Yes, its the story that is breaking my heart
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ogunade
Ogunade, gun, do doe, end!
But, i am her husband;
Go, Dan, Ade, and, on, no!
Fresh out of prison! !
Like the story of the black book of love,
Like the story of the white book of peace,
Like the story of the red book of care,
Sparks!
But, i am fresh out of prison.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Doppelganger or Such Like.
You remind me
of my brother
the woman said
after mass
meeting you
at the back
of the church
poor guy you thought
to look like me
and then the other day
while sipping a latte
at a Nero coffee house
you saw her again
sitting in the corner
with her husband
who was reading a paper
she looked up
saw you and smiled
some essence of her youth
held in there
at least in spirit
who is that?
your son asked
a woman from church
who says I look like her brother
you said
and what does her brother
look like?
he said
me I guess
you replied
taking in the Mozart music
in the back ground
some minuet
that Judy liked
some decades ago
whom you almost
made it with
until her parents
came home
before the time
they said
and she jumping up
altering her clothes
face bright and red
the woman's husband
put down the newspaper
and sipped his espresso
giving you a nod of recognition
you the guy
whom his wife said
looked like her brother
though he saw
little likeness
save for the beard
and moustache
and that look
about the eyes
you think
taking in his expression
imagining his thought process
he taking no notice
of the Mozart minuet
or knowing Judy's
white underwear
or red dress.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I had the advantage of reading the book, and when the script was first submitted to me, it was just another gangster story - the east side taking over the west side and all that.
quote by Edward G. Robinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orlando's Cafe
I sit alone on a black painted chair
putting my elbow on the black painted table
fronting a gray painting of a man
gathering rice
a Romano,
i wait
i close my eyes
to a cat nap
i hear the conversations
but i am not interested
of people on the other table
i imagine two lovers, a fat woman and
a skinny man
sharing spaghetti and coke
while a mother with a white skin
feeds a small slice of pizza
to her English speaking girl
who keeps on saying
that she changed her mind
into not eating another piece
of that Hawaiian menu,
the fat woman looks at me
wanting to tell me
why i am lonely
as though
when one sits and eats alone
signifies nothing
but loneliness
i could have told her
it is not the case
that i in turn suspects that
the skinny man
perhaps is the loneliest
man
sitting watching a
fat and unattractive woman
before him
at Orlando's Cafe....
surprisingly i realize
i have become a man of few words
actually
i am too mindful of myself then
conscious
that throughout that time
i never uttered
a word
it is my mind that does the talking
as though
everyone who are there
are all the more lonely
as i try to capture
them all
within the framework
of some
consonants...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Adulterous Wife
As her Children sleep in their bed
While her husband lays down his sleepy head
She quietly gets up and starts continuing her lies,
As this is the story, of the Adulterous wife.
She lies and cheats and do the sins that she shouldn't,
Sadly though, this isn't the first time for this woman
As in her past she has done this all before
Sadly her husband didn't know, that he had married a whore.
As when he is at work, she was never at home
And when her girl's slept, she was never alone
She lied and cheated and used her husband for a price
As this is the story of the Adulterous wife.
She sneaks out of the house whenever she can
So she can jump in the bed of another man
He then uses her, and then she lies to him
But neither can lie to GOD, when their beginning becomes their end.
And when her daughter's get older and they feel the strife
I wander if they will be like their mother, the adulterous wife
She argues and fights with her husband all the time
Loyalty and love to her husband has been left far behind.
The vow she swore to GOD she has broke it once again
Now she is a marked woman, in front of women and men
She has affairs with her lovers, that only the devil could believe
Asking them to come and rescue her, and set herself free.
She is never happy unless she is in another mans bed
Only happiness she brings that man, is when he is dead
She tells her lies and say all her men of hers are abusers
But she never let them know, that she is but a user.
And she'll keep her lies from yesterday unto today
And while she sins, other men lay down to pray
How sad it is to live that type of sinful life
But this is the true story of the Adulterous wife.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Romence
Just give me your ears and let me tell you the story of romance. This story will occur between two people a man and a woman. Well use your imagination and see yourself as this man as I will be this woman. You will be my king and I will be your queen, together sharing this romance surrounded by it magic coat protecting us from the cruelty and bitterness of this world.
The romance that will bring joy laughter every now and then.
The romances that will make my heart sing out loud.
poem by Nomusa Promise Ndimande
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The Story Of Life
The story of jesus
So easy to explain
After they crucified him,
A woman, she claimed his name
The story of jesus
The whole Bible knows
Went all across the desert
And in the middle, he found a rose
There should be no questions
There should be no lies
He was married ever happily after
All the tears we cry
No use in arguing
All the use to the man that moans
When each man falls in battle
His soul it has to roam
Angles of heaven
Flying saucers to some,
Made easter sunday
The name of the rising sun
The story is written
By so many people who dared,
To lay down the truth
To so very many who cared
To carry the cross
Of jesus and beyond
We will guide the light
This time with a woman in our arms
We as men
Cant explain the reason why
The womans always mentioned
At the moment that we die
All we know
Is God is by our side,
And he says the word
So easy yet so hard
I wish not to be alone,
So I must respect my other heart
Oh, the story
Of jesus is the story
Of you and me
No use in feeling lonely,
I am searching to be free
The story
Of life is quicker
Than the wink of an eye
The story of love
Is hello and goodbye
Until we meet again
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Storyteller's Word
In a decent book, I can lose myself,
For, at least, a good couple of hours.
A well told story, for young or old,
My mind will quite hungrily devour.
I’ve always loved a real page turner:
A story, which, is totally compelling.
Sometimes, there’s a story, true or invented,
Which, simply, deserves, and needs telling.
Sometimes, a person in a book,
To me, can feel like a true friend;
You share their life and adventures,
And feel rather sad, when it all ends.
A story can stir up a mixture of emotions:
I’ve cried tears, and gasped with surprise.
I’ve found myself completely captivated,
As a story unfolds before my very eyes.
A good story, has the ability to transport you,
To different places, and to different times.
You just never know where you may end up,
When you sit and read those immortal lines.
Stories should never be kept locked away:
With others, they should be readily shared.
There is no other past-time, known to man,
With which, reading a book, can quite compare.
Whether a story is based on a person’s life,
Or whether, it has been quite purely invented,
A story can make such an impact upon you,
That, forever, in your memory, it is cemented.
I’ve always adored a really well written story,
Regardless of, by whom, or when, it was written.
Snuggled up, with a book held in your hands,
It is so easy, to become completely smitten.
A story can make you lose all track of time,
When, in a book, you are totally immersed.
I love reading a story, and really drinking it in;
For reading books, I’ve developed a real thirst.
There are many stories, the world over,
Which, are still waiting to be heard.
Nothing on earth, is quite so powerful,
As the power of the storyteller’s word.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Coffee Song
By colton and smith
Theres a full time reservation
Made in a bar at the railway station,
And theres a story, a kind of fable,
On a card at the corner table.
On it is a message; been there some time.
It starts off, the coffee tasted so fine...
It says, one day, this may find you,
These few words may just remind you.
We sat here together just to pass time;
You said how the coffee tasted so fine.
It goes on to say, I love you.
If you should find this I must hear from you.
It gives a number but the name has faded away.
All that is left are just the words, maybe someday...
Thats the story and the fable;
Never leave alone from a corner table.
Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo.
Doo doo-doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Coffee Song
By colton and smith
Theres a full time reservation
Made in a bar at the railway station,
And theres a story, a kind of fable,
On a card at the corner table.
On it is a message; been there some time.
It starts off, the coffee tasted so fine...
It says, one day, this may find you,
These few words may just remind you.
We sat here together just to pass time;
You said how the coffee tasted so fine.
It goes on to say, I love you.
If you should find this I must hear from you.
It gives a number but the name has faded away.
All that is left are just the words, maybe someday...
Thats the story and the fable;
Never leave alone from a corner table.
Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo.
Doo doo-doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pleasant One
Clan by clan,
Kin by kin,
One by one,
The store of Bohan!
And like the coastline of great love.
The scorpion passed by near the lion,
But his best-man took away his wife;
And, the story went out through the village.
Customary,
To entice her;
Of a feast,
To entice him;
But, her bride-mate took away his husband!
And, the story went out through the village.
Pleasant one,
To the land of my birth;
Of mercy and truth,
But this woman is from Bethlehem.
This man is your guest and,
This woman is my guest;
Yes, the one with her hands on the threshold!
But, take me to the land of peace.
A man of substance,
A woman of substance,
To the cave of Adullam;
And like your nakedness in the land of your muse,
But, the story went out through the village.
To the great well of Sechu!
Your mother's nakedness;
To the customary seat,
Your father's nakedness;
To shoot three arrows to this side,
Your brother's nakedness;
To sit by the stone of Ezel,
Your sister's nakedness;
And like the muse of the new moon! !
But, to lay naked all day and night,
For, i am old and grey-headed.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Expecting You
I am a woman and i know the father of my child,
But holding up the silver side of love to tell you my story;
For i am nineteen years old and, i am like a woman of words already!
One mile from 'Mile-Seven',
One word from 'Mile-Eleven',
And like a small world from 'Mile-Twelve'! !
But invisible with my passion to him who impregnated me;
For i am nineteen years old and, i am like a woman of words.
I am now in a world of my own and,
It is just like another day without the rain;
But are you ready to follow me into the woods with my child? !
For i have been expecting you lately on this issue of mine,
Because i am a woman and i know the father of my child;
But holding up the silver sde of love to tell you my story!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Picture-Books in Winter
Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A Brown Lady Asserting Her Right To Take A Seat
and so this brown lady
inside a cafe
asserted her right
to sit where she wants
to
invoking her
constitutional right
a la rosa
sub rosa
parks
a white woman
enters
and tells her
to move a little
bit farther
and the brown woman
says
you don't tell me to move
because you don't own this place
i have the right to be here
i am no less than the trees and the stars
the white woman is 65
the brown woman is 35
and i see,
as you feel the sting,
there is a bite somewhere inside your heart
and now you tell me the story
of this guilt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Creator And A Barren Woman
A barren woman had been praying for a child for long,
Then after many years without hope the Creator heard her prayers;
Then the Creator said to her: 'A year today you will give birth'.
This is the story of the Creator and a barren woman:
A year after the barren woman gave birth to a child.
Now, she started to complain again to the Creator;
Because, she has no time to take care of the child.
'Oh, i am too tired of taking care of this child';
And the Creator was very patience.
'Oh, i cannot take care of this child any longer';
And the Creator was very patience again.
'Oh, i have given my husband a child but i cannot take care of him';
This child was a son and then, the Creator said to the woman:
'When you were baren you did cried out for a child but,
Now that you've got one you also crying daily for his upkeep';
'Well, the wants of mankind are many and mankind is NOT satisfied'.
Yes, we are all living on this earth;
With stories and the things that we see around us;
But mankind is really NOT satisfied, whether barren or with a child.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Women
This world is, because of the woman
this universe is, because of the woman
nothing exists without the woman
our existence is, because of the woman.
Why being a woman then
should be humiliation?
Why a woman then
should face indignation?
always the woman becomes the prey...?
always the woman has no say.....?
The woman is a mother, also a mother–in-law
the woman is a sister, also a sister-in-law
the woman has many roles to play
a daughter-in-law perfects that night & day.
Why then a woman does
torture another woman?
Why does a ma-in-law
torches a daughter in-law?
Why does a woman destroy another’s world?
Why does jealousy overcomes a sister-in-law?
In the woman, power is manifest,
yet she is unaware and that is a jest.
she becomes Durga when in rage
telling everyone, she is no sage
the woman is where, awakening is there
her absence creates crematoriums everywhere.
Why do then a woman abhor the birth of a female?
Wants a child, whose gender is male?
the male is indebted to her for the courage and life
yet no rewards for the woman, her entire life.
This is the story of the woman, full of anguish
Plight of a woman is because of another’s wish
Exploitation of the woman could not have taken place
Had a woman given the other a little more space.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Minutes Before And Minutes After
The woman's side of the story,
The man's side of the story,
Peak, beak, leak, weak;
And like the minute before and the minute after,
But my homeland Africa is also your homeland!
So come and visit us to know more about us.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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