The Shrink Of The Lonely Household...
she will mistake
art as a form of disorder
it is not unlikely
she fails you
in the Rorschach test
where butterflies leave
from the frame of a page
and goes somewhere else
and there will be more
stories of its adventures
no longer
warranted by the inkblots
of her mind
she takes a closer look
at your nose
and count how many
breaths are you
making in
a minute
she will degrade you
into a candidate for an
electric cure
write the names of
some capsules for your medication
and a letter of recommendation
to another psychiatric doctor
you are not a poet
but a madman eating words
drinking ink
barking like a dog
at the wrong tree
of this world
you keep you fragile wisdom
shut your mouth
pack your belongings &
leave the place
and grow your tiny flowers
somewhere else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Discriminated Poet....
she will mistake
art as a form of disorder
it is not unlikely
since fails
in the Rorschach test
where butterflies leave
from the frame of a page
and goes somewhere else
and there will be more
stories of its adventures
no longer
warranted by the inkblots
of her mind
she will degrade you
into a candidate for an
electric cure
some capsules for medications
so recommendations
to another doctor
you are not a poet
but a madman eating words
drinking ink
barking like a dog
at the wrong tree
of this world
you keep you wisdom
shut your mouth
leave the place
and grow your flowers
somewhere else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Short of Breath
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
my breathing’s weak and my chest is sore.
Five breaths, six breaths, seven breaths, eight,
I have to breathe deeply at a slower rate.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
I’m four breaths closer than I was before.
Five breaths, six breaths, seven breaths, eight,
my mouth’s wide open, but I can’t inflate.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
it’ll be the end when I breathe no more.
Five breaths, six breaths, seven breaths, eight,
I’m sure someone's rattling heaven's gate.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four,
well that’s it, I can't count no more.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry Baby
I don't cry
Or forget
I'll cut my picture on your heart
No names
You've got one more game to lose
I was young
I was clean
But now my soul eats me alive
I was kind
Now i'm your first big mistake
Don't leave
What'ya gonna do?
Are you gonna break down and cry?
She sold pain
She sold mine
She sold my secret to the man
She sold lies
And so now i break the word
Don't leave
What'ya gonna do?
Are you gonna break down and cry?
Tear up my picture
Tear up my face
You'll tear up your feelings but the memory's quite safe
Look back in anger
Look back and cry
Look up my number if you want to know why
Don't leave
What'ya gonna do?
Are you gonna break down and cry?
Same need
Same cure
I'll whisper words to ease your shame
Play time
I've got one more trick for you
I don't pray
Wrong man
I don't look for love that i don't need
Wrong place
You've got one more chance to leave
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cry
I don't cry
Or forget
I'll cut my picture on your heart
No names
You've got one more game to lose
I was young
I was clean
But now my soul eats me alive
I was kind
Now i'm your first big mistake
Don't leave
What'ya gonna do?
Are you gonna break down and cry?
She sold pain
She sold mine
She sold my secret to the man
She sold lies
And so now i break the word
Don't leave
What'ya gonna do?
Are you gonna break down and cry?
Tear up my picture
Tear up my face
You'll tear up your feelings but the memory's quite safe
Look back in anger
Look back and cry
Look up my number if you want to know why
Don't leave
What'ya gonna do?
Are you gonna break down and cry?
Same need
Same cure
I'll whisper words to ease your shame
Play time
I've got one more trick for you
I don't pray
Wrong man
I don't look for love that i don't need
Wrong place
You've got one more chance to leave
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Closer
All night I've been awake
You on my mind
I made a big mistake
To leave you behind
You know it's hard to sleep
on a bed of nails
I know that I was wrong
You knew it all along
I was a fool nothing better to do
than fail again and blame it on you
Sometimes I don't know how I'll ever get you back
There's so much I need to say
But you're so far away
(chorus)
Ooh Just wanna get closer
Ooh Closer to you
Ooh Just wanna get closer, closer
That's all I wanted to do
So when I wake up
I'll count every move
I need to make
To get back to you
Who knows if time can heal
All that's gone before
But in your eyes once more
Lights on a distant shore
(chorus)
They say there's a northern light
Shining out there
They say there's a happy life
Who can tell me where
They say that love can fly
Like smoke in the air
I don't care what they say
When you're so far away
Ooh Just wanna get closer
Ooh Closer to you
Ooh Just wanna get closer, closer
That's all I wanted to do
Just to be close to you
song performed by by Johnny Hates Jazz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barking Dog Inside Your Mind
it must be noisy
inside your mind
as you complain
about the barking
dog barking all
day long in your
lifetime,
and it must be
also unfair if
as you feel it,
you are always
the wrong tree
being barked
at,
so you are the
tree wronged
and i, this human
being writing
some lines for
a conversation,
shall always be
that barking dog
inside your
mind.
let us talk
let us exchange
places, or let us
settle for a little
compromise,
there is no dog,
and there is no
wrong tree,
onthe very first day
next year
at the very first hour,
let us talk,
as new friends,
let us begin again
as strangers
in a new place
wanting to know
what each street
is named after.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You're Right, I Was Wrong
Should've listened when you said I'd miss you
Should've listened but I could not hear
You said I'd want you back
I said not a chance
Now I can see I was so blind
You're right I was wrong
To ever leave you
I made a mistake
I'm sorry now
You're right I was wrong
To ever let you go
Now I know, now I know
You're right, I was wrong
Couldn't see it when I had you with me
Couldn't see that I had everything
And know I see it clear
And now you're not here
You said someday I'd change my mind
You're right I was wrong
To ever leave you
I made a mistake
I'm sorry now
You're right I was wrong
To ever let you go
Now I know, now I know
You're right, I was wrong
If I could have one more chance to hold you
I would keep you here in my arms
And never let you go
Because now I know
You're right I was wrong
To ever leave you
I made a mistake
I'm sorry now
You're right I was wrong
To ever let you go
Now I know, Baby now I know
You're right, I was wrong
You're right, I was wrong
You're right, I was wrong
You're right, I was wrong
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet child and grammar
No grammar is needed
In a child's world
In a poet's world
In the world of love
The poet the child
Are living always
And no one can put them
In trouble water
Poet is a free bird
With his words his languages
His dreams are with him
He is sharing his dreams
His thoughts that is
His greatness.
Leave the poet alone
Leave the child alone
Leave them to smile to laugh
To love to live
You can apply them as they are
You can put them on your own way
And in regular form and understand
On your own what they expressed
Beyond vocabulary beyond grammar
And see everything is alright.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Write Erase Write Erase
this is what happens to this poem
when you have nothing to write
tonight....write, erase, write, erase
you are waiting
for an inspiration that does not come
you keep on waiting and then something comes
you write it, you think about it, you read it and you find nothing
worth the letter you assign to it
then you erase it and you are honest enough to admit that there is nothing
beautiful
not even a purpose, and then you write the word again, you ponder, there is
nothing worth its existence
there is nothing to grow in that word chosen
you erase it again, you write it and then there is this space of thinking,
what is it? you ask. what is it really?
it is this denial.
this negation of
what you are
that keeps you writing.
you stand by the window. Look out
the road. You see a dog, and it is howling again
to the moon
and to the wrong tree
it is barking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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More Than Love
Every morning takes a chance, it might not come around
So its maybe coming later
A preacher man on my t.v.
Says hes got the streets for me
And prays you write the letter
Heavenly father tell me how its gonna be
So that I can try to make it better
Restless bars, you and I suppose they are
For blowing it all away
Thats why I say
It takes more than love to get it on
You know it takes more than strength to carry on
It takes more than words to get it wrong
It takes more than love to get it on
Making us crazy, burnin our bridges
Taking them out one at a time
Goodbyes you know dont come easy
Did you wanna go, for the thrill of it all
Why dyou wanna go cause you had no reason
For blowin it all away
It takes more than love to get it on
You know it takes more than strength to carry on
It takes more than words to get it wrong
It takes more than love to get it on
Ships are sailing and you know your aim is true
The figureheads have broken in your mind
You paint yourself a picture, and it turns to black and white
And settle with the people one more time
Chorus to fade
song performed by by Wet Wet Wet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Tired But Not Upset
some friendly metaphors
fly like tiny butterflies all yellowish
hover over my hair
i am tired and they make a show
of acrobatic letters and flowing words
like a cool stream
beside a hill
i am not upset because all i need is sleep.
and they understand
that sometimes
i may not write about them and their
unusual existences
like an aberration of light
a rarefaction
of lengths and a contortion of shapes
and they leave
but i whisper to one of those whose wings are too small
for its fragile body
perhaps, soon.
soon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Speak To The Flowers
When I speak to the flowers in my backyard
When I speak to the flowers in my backyard
When I speak to the flowers in my backyard
They tell me to leave you, leave you behind
They tell my to leave you, just get you out of my mind.
They tell me to leave you, leave you behind
Ow, forget all the good times, that are making me blind.
I know you run around and youll never settle down
And I should quit while Im still on top
But when you hold me baby in your lovin arms
I could love you forever baby, but
When I speak to the flowers in my backyard
When I speak to the flowers in my backyard
When I speak to the flowers in my backyard
They tell me to leave you, leave you behind
They tell my to leave you, just get you out of my mind.
They tell me to leave you, just leave you behind
Ow, forget all the good times, that are making me blind.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poet as a Feeler of Pain
What makes a poet?
Many have tried to guess.
Is it a voice
like a conduit,
a plainspokenness to grief,
the hairs of the head
dancing on end,
the blood swarming
with the voices
of all those who have died,
will die,
& will also be born?
Is it a catch
in the throat
that awakens the eyes,
is it in the eyes themselves
or is it something
in the heart?
I think it is pain-
an openness to pain,
so that the least leaf
cuts the hand
& the smallest tear
cuts the cheek
like jagged crystal,
so that the world
is a sick infant
& the poet its mother,
praying, crooning, promising
to be good
if only the cure
takes.
There is, of course,
no cure.
Poetry does not cure
the poet
& the poet
does not cure the world.
Usually he catches
the world's diseases
& dies
even before his time.
But against all odds
& all indifference,
another one is born.
The world must have
someone to feel its pain
& speak of it.
The poet is that mouth.
poem by Erica Jong
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By Myself Anxiety Takes Over
Acting like a madman, Just want to get out of here,
Anxiety making me shake rocking back and forth,
Emotions full of pain, nowhere to run gotta get out of here,
Fear and chills down my back, Making noises afraid of the attack,
Like an animal in a cage just wanna break free,
This wild animal never tamed can't even think in this frame,
Just know I can't be contained any longer.
Killing thoughts feel like giving in,
Gotta shake this feeling of the easy way out,
Crying for help in silence, take away my anxiety,
Don't want to end up insane, chills start this so messed up,
Gunna smash into a thousand pieces, shut out the world all by myself,
Going crazy things become hazy,
Can't think of what to do to make myself feel better,
Feeling nobody would care if I leave this world its only fair,
Bye to this world, never coming back, this is gunna end as a matter of fact.
poem by Katheryn Foley
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We Are So Fragile
We are so fragile
Advertising lies that are whiter than yours
We are so fragile
They could give us a war just to keep us amused
We are so fragile
I could stay here inside and say its all been done
We are so fragile
Just pretend I never tried, Ill leave it up to you
We are still so young
And it must be wrong but Id do it all the same
We are really so shy
Theres nothing I can do except believe in you
We could always go home
But everyone says this is the place to be
We are so unnatural
But you wouldnt understand, you only deal with men
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The World At Large
Ice-age heat wave, can't complain.
If the world's at large, why should I remain?
Walked away to another plan.
Gonna find another place, maybe one I can stand.
I move on to another day,
to a whole new town with a whole new way.
Went to the porch to have a thought.
Got to the door and again, I couldn't stop.
You don't know where and you don't know when.
But you still got your words and you got your friends.
Walk along to another day.
Work a little harder, work another way.
Well uh-uh baby I ain't got no plan.
We'll float on maybe would you understand?
Gonna float on maybe would you understand?
Well float on maybe would you understand?
The days get shorter and the nights get cold.
I like the autumn but this place is getting old.
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast.
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most.
The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave.
I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.
Walked on off to another spot.
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want.
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?
The moths beat themselves to death against the lights.
Adding their breeze to the summer nights.
Outside, water like air was great.
I didn't know what I had that day.
Walk a little farther to another plan.
You said that you did, but you didn't understand.
I know that starting over is not what life's about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud.
song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who says I'm a poet
Yes I write lines
And rhyme rhymes
I write puns
Simile alliteration
And all figures of speech
But who says I’m a poet
In some cases I write and scratch
Sometimes I think crack
Voice out loud dah
Making speeches like damn
Combining words
Building sentences
But who says I’m a poet
I maybe great and brave
Embracing grave
Like person reading a Braille
Showing how strong I dare
But still at night I stare
Thinking who says I’m a poet
I may speak with sticks
Throwing ink turned into voices
Beat with lips
To defend my choices
That might be pointless, thoughtless
Maybe fair-less
Because no one says I’m a poet
They say;
Self recommendation has no justification
Practice makes perfect
But I say;
If you can’t recommend yourself who will
Why practise if no one is perfect
Because I’M A POET I say
poem by Zama Ashley Helebe
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Somewhere In The Middle Of This Journey
somewhere in the middle of this journey
is the chaos of our presence
we like to dislodge and vomit of this
nostalgia of where we come from
we like to go back to the womb
and regret having grown our legs
we blame the hands of the midwife
we want to pinpoint who slapped us
we like to hear the sound of vengeance
of our first cries
did we cry for help? did i cry because
i never asked to be put here?
or did i cry because i am just making a lot of nonsense
about my innocence about despair?
i get some names of fathers and mothers and siblings
i write them on a page of a book and i ask what if they were not there
what could have been? what could i be part of?
i shout, i am an individual, i am not a part of this relating places
i am not a connection of the branches and roots
i stretch my hands wanting to touch and get hold of a rope
there is nothing there to put my neck in shame.
we get some comfort to the miseries of others.
we become brave from the stories of their sorrows and misfortunes.
we read the stories and the poems of those who know what is wrong.
what is pain, what is so distressing.
soon we learn this game. This art of shrugging our shoulders and then
putting the payment on the table, not drinking the glass of beer.
Leaving the table and not saying any word at all. And this we tell ourselves,
i am courageous. I am silent. I grow alone. I die alone. I am beautiful.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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