The Pessimist In A Poem...
the sickness of humanity
is looking for a cure
and trusting about the herbs of
words
humanity keeps on writing
until it finds the
cure,
there seems to be
nothing,
there is no remedy
on the sickness of our humanity
it begs
nothing is given
it is thirsty and remains
to be one
it is hungry (for love, for compassion
for warmth, and understanding
for food
and shelter and embrace)
and it so remains to
be one
hungry world
there is no cure, its sickness
remains forever
until you come in
to tell the world that it is wrong
you are the savior
of this sickness of humanity
when you cease to be
one of them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I Write
when i write i do not wish to please
anybody
it is more of a selfish endeavor
i am lonely and i want to please myself
to get rid of this feeling
so i can function well
in this society
when i write i am engaged in therapy
looking for a cure
of this sickness of humanity
this void inside our hearts
something that asks
always asks
and we are left without any answers
but we go on
because we have no choice
the world spins itself
even without us
this search for meaning
this self wanting to be full
i write because there is this sickness upon ourselves
it is lovely
beautiful and true
feel it, to every syllable, every letter
every poem
at night when the loneliness becomes deeper
when the stars become too far away
when the silence stabs
when the pain becomes too unbearable
the mind opens
the words build themselves
like stairs, and
this is it now... another poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Following The Sickness
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Fighting our own shadows, fooled by our enemies.
They are the ones you just can't see.
The unaccepted theory is rejected yet again.
But still the chorus plays.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
To whom it may concern.
A poetic letter, dressed in feathers.
Does it make it any prettier?
A distraction from the purpose.
Delivering the simplest of messages.
And still they are not heard.
Oh no they are never heard.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
And man is yet to learn.
And man is yet to learn.
Foolish know it alls.
A change in circumstances will cause a sudden fall.
A broken bone, or ego?
A laceration or a severed artery?
Is it serious or superficial?
An inflamation that just won't go down.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
And it has brought me here.
A million passersby's.
An angelic looking sky.
Prying the heavens for just one peek.
I wonder if it has what I seek.
A cure
A cure
For this world.
Follow the sickness.
As the bodies dropp the fire burns.
And man is yet to learn.
If you are ever lost just follow the sickness.
Its everywhere.
Just go from there.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Lexy
My dog Lexy
Such a precious member of the family
She bring me up when I feel so down.
She is only 7 years old
And distemper is making her cold
A sickness in which there is no cure
A sickness in which hurts me all the more
three to twenty one days
is the time in which a decision will have to be made
put her down and end the suffering
or take the chance that she fights it off
She is my dog
She is so pretty, obident, and energetic
Or at least she use to be
Its pathetic with all the cure in the world
That we still have to watch those we love die
It was her time some would say
Does that make any more okay
She is my dog Lexy
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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To The Goddess
every day i visit you
i kneel
and look for thoughts
matching them
with words
i shower the ground
with some tears
i genuflect
i scrutinize every nook
of myself
it is intense
it is a deep experience
there are whirlpools
and there are hands that pull me down
to drown me
i struggle
grasp for air
into the basics of my
experience
everyday i worship you
because i too
am looking for a cure
into the sickness
of my own
humanity
i make this plea
love me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Strange Sickness.
You are the reason for my illness,
You are the remedy for my sickness,
The strange sickness attacks me,
By increasing my heart's rhythm,
Giddiness in the head,
Palpitation at the chest,
Loss of appetite and
Scores of other symptoms,
Feeling quite hot when you are far,
Feeling strange when you are near,
All people seem to be happy and smile,
When you hold my hands,
Everyone seem to be sad and cry,
When you go away from me,
What sickness is this so strange,
That is induced by you?
What sickness is this so unique,
That is cleared by you?
You are the reason for me to be awkward,
Giggle at my mother when she scolds,
You are the reason for me to be childish,
When my father checks my progress,
You are the reason for me to flunk,
Two three subjects all of a sudden,
I am not ashamed of that failure, my love,
As long as you are the cause,
And the remedy for my sickness..
Something in you causes this!
Something in you clears this!
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Sickness is but a word!
Sickness is spreading,
People need a cure!
Will people survive,
We are not so sure!
People crying,
People dying,
People trying,
To stay alive!
People saving,
people helping,
People praying,
No need to shimmer and shive!
Please pray for all the sick people out there,
they need every prayer!
Don't let let any sickness,
grow into a slayer!
In the end....
Sickness in but a word,
Fearing it is absurd! !
(Please tell everyone to read this poem, it is very important to pray for sick people, who knows maybe someone you love is one of them, Nomatter what your religion is, Just pray for God to help! !)
poem by Kuji soliman
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Obscure
How obscure
To heal a heart full of hatred
Through the light of forgiveness...
How obscure
To cure blindness
Through the light of open-mindedness...
How obscure
To cure deafness
Through the light of consciousness...
How obscure
To cure dumbness
Through the light of intelligence...
How obscure...
To heal a hand of hostility
Through the light of kindness...
How obscure
To cure a paralytic
Through the light of liberty...
How obscure
To cure sickness
Through the light of benevolence...
How obscure to understand
To heal physicality
Through the presence of spirituality
poem by Mary Joy Lumanog
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Sickness II
I am sick lying on your hospital bed,
So you can play with my nakedness if you want to;
Because this is the only time that you can see my nakedness!
For this sickness had made it possible.
Sickness, oh sickness! !
Sickness had made it possible for you to see my nakedness;
If not, you can't even smell my sight at anytime.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sickness
Hey little girl you re black and blue
Hey little girl you re six foot two
I know a man who loved too hard
He lost his mind it wasn t hard
Over this slckness
Over this slckness
Over this slckness
This slckness of love
Cute little knees that you got
Out in the dark parking lot
Cute little voice whispering
I know a man lost everything
Over this sickness
Over this sickness
Over this sickness
This sickness of love
Hey little girl i m almost through
Hey little girl i m almost you
Hey little girl the river runs
Hey little girl the rising sun
Over this sickness
This slckness of love
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Cure...
When the sickness is sadness,
laughter is the cure.
Laugh It Off...
When the sickness is sadness,
laughter is the cure.
Why Are We Here?
there is this sickness that comes
and you have no power to block it
it is like a monkey that comes at your
temple door and you have no way of driving it
you leave leaving everything important to that monkey
spreading banana peelings on the alter of your sacred nook
you watch at a distance where the monkey plays monkey upon itself
you are sleepy, you fall into a deep slumber
the monkey comes inside that dream and you are helpless
without your hands and feet
you cough, you struggle to vomit
there is no cure for this sickness
nothing comes out
and you are feeling toxic
that is why we are here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem For Abdul
Why Are We Here?
there is this sickness that comes
and you have no power to block it
it is like a monkey that comes at your
temple door and you have no way of driving it
you leave
leaving everything important to that monkey
spreading banana peelings
on the altar of your sacred nook
you watch at a distance
where the monkey plays monkey
upon itself
you are sleepy,
you fall into a deep slumber
the monkey comes inside that dream
and you are helpless
without your hands and feet
you cough, you struggle to vomit
there is no cure for this sickness
nothing comes out
and you are feeling toxic
that is why we are here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What It Is Really?
somewhere our words take us
beyond
somehow we write because we
must rise
some build ships
some of us have to create an ocean to make these ships sail
some of us must know each feather to make us wings
some of us must assure that we too can fly
for we are part of this lonely planet looking for a cure
of humanity's universal sickness
this emptiness that no one feels
if i must, if need be, we too have to create God to create us
it is said He created us in His own image
and we who are lonely and fearful must accept and simply believe
we pay nothing for this
we only have an imagination
some of us has to settle in that bottom of faith
some floors must hold us as we float in space and need to land
we create floors we recreate the meaning of floating and settling
we are tired and what we need most is this peace
the calmness of everything is our dream
somewhere somehow we are and so we keep on writing
some of us has to imagine that we are at rest
some mock us because we seem to be always in motion
eternity, infinity, this somehow this somewhere
always taking us away from us
somehow somewhere we think we understand
we grope we feel and yet we are unable to hold any
and so we keep on saying and saying and saying
but what it is really? what it is really?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The sickness of the body is the cure of the mind.
Dance Freedom In Every Heartbeat
if we cannot dance
with love and freedom
in our hearts for all
then we cannot hear
the rhythm of love
written into all beauty
that remains
in our heart
beat world
that remains
in beautiful
gentle souls
that remains
in gift love
softly sung
that remains in God’s
original gift vision
for created humanity
all souls
dancing to sacred
rhythm life
are previous
unique hearts
bliss wonder
all dancers
smile laugh
breathe love
Inspired by the poem ‘Heartbeat’ by Unwritten Soul.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The superior doctor prevents sickness; The mediocre doctor attends to impending sickness; The inferior doctor treats actual sickness.
The superior doctor prevents sickness;/ The mediocre doctor attends to impending sickness;/ The inferior doctor treats actual sickness.
With Sickness Comes Sadness
WITH SICKNESS COMES SADNESS
With sickness comes sadness
Will one ever escape?
The hurt of life
Hurts more deeply
Each day.
Sickness is sadness-
And I am afraid-
Will I ever be,
Healthy and Happy,
Again?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Spaniards know a sickness of the heart that only gold can cure.
quote by Hernando Cortez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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