Related quotes: i stab the fried banana...

Untitled 23

i stab
the fried banana
with a fork

pieces eaten
with joy in my heart

i stir coffee with cream
hot water inside the cup of white porcelain

i hear the ringing
of the door bell

and i do not mind
who is it what is it

i expect no one
this early morning

as i begin to piece together
broken glasses of memories

i dare love no one
and i dare no one to love me

there is an island of coffee with creams
inside the cup of porcelain

no one stirs it
except myself

i feed myself piece by piece with
a fried banana stiffened with bread crumbs

deep fried and well cooked
self, selfish upon itself

on a Maunday Thursday
the silence creeps like soft feet of a white butterfly on my arms

the windows are open
the air is free to go inside and play and be wary about its own molecules

the door is closed
no one is allowed to get in at this hour of my reflection

a day as mirror
a self as shadow cast upon a self upon a self

there is no language from the body
this time

only fools, only fools,
rising above themselves

saving life on some memoirs
a biography of another bigot begotten by this ghoul.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes

Broken Glasses (2)

It's all broken glasses falling on the floor
Piece by piece breaking even more
One becoming two with each and every blow
A tree of glasses will never grow

Broken glasses on the floor
A million pieces becoming more
Each piece alone starts to shine
As though each one were becoming alive

A million pieces lie on the floor
Broken glasses broken to the core
They make me cry with their silence alone
As though they believe that all hope is gone
And the light that shines on the edge of a piece
Is like an un-witnessed tear of the pain unseen
As though when the pieces stop falling
All the glasses stop fighting
And chose to shine no more

Broken glasses falling on the floor
What can I say what have I more
Broken glasses I adore
Like a silent heart beat being ignored
Broken glasses are alive
Broken glasses are the life
Of a character broken deep inside

poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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Caring Less For The Loquacious

seated, formal, behaved,
and stopping to read the
morning paper,
the tv is on for the
usual morning news,
the cup of coffee is on
the breakfast table,
the usual rice and sunny
side up fried egg
and dried fish to
with your wish for
the wholesome thing,
salt and sugar and
something sour
like a piece of
lemon to accentuate
your need for a variety,

in front is a woman with
curly hair, big earrings like
a mystic,
she speaks in crystal ball
reminding you
of your inevitable
pain in the future,
you are her slave and
you listen,
though you are not
interested,
(shit, shit, you have these
words hammering in
your mind)
finally, you take a glimpse
of her mouth,
they look like scissors,
her nose looks like
a wrench,
she looks older
than you think,
cranky like an old
rice mill,
you like to get rid
of her,
you know this woman,
her name,
and her being a
part of you
even for life,

you create a certain distance
like Mars and Pluto,
farther away, you settle on
the orbit of earth,
this marble planet, known
for its coolness
and tolerance for
evil.

you're not quitting,
you love that dragon inside
your hot, creamy coffee,
and then you smile, and tell yourself,
after she had spoken
her piece,

it is a beautiful day
it is a real beautiful life out there.

you step inside your car, drive for work,
and let life manage your life somehow.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Love You Do Not Lose If You Only Will To Keep It

when you love
when you love deeply and truly
like you have placed everything in you inside a small bowl
so fragile, breakable and perishable
shiny piece, porcelain white, unstained,

or a fruit glossy for the moment
or a flower blooming only for a day

like the way he loves you like the way he changes his mind
after you have given it all

when love is pronounced dead on arrival
do not weep
do not scream do not ever utter a word fit for sorrow and departure
keep the love that you still want everlasting
deep in your heart that love still clings and still works for your delight
be selfish on this, and be so private
do not give that up as a nightmare keep it as a dream always

and deep in your heart
you have so much to gain as a memory that shall last forever
and in this way
you have never lost

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Next Poem

this is the next poem that i am telling you about.
it wants to tell you something, but not in secret really,
i am open, and i like open fields, like open ideas
wanting to embrace and be embraced by the world.

absence too, is open. The open arms wait for the coming
of absence. Absence is a wide space wanting to be filled by
love, and love is elusive, and love is unresponding to the
emergencies we are in.

but let me not talk about it. Let me tell you and take you back
to what i have started. I like the mirror in the living room broken
into a hundred pieces, all in the name of love.

i like to have as many mirrors as i can have. Tiny broken pieces.
I will take one. And all i want in this short life that we have,
the life of a fruitfly inside that experimental cupboard,
or that transparent cellophane, let death come.

i have this piece of broken glass. I want to reflect my light.
Do you like it? I want to reflect the light of God, do you like it?

Take it for what it is. Each piece has a reflective index of its own.
The face value of things. Do you like it?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pieces Of Self....

everyday i see myself
first as the wholeness of the egg

its whiteness ignored
cracked by the fork and
scrambled and fried

those pearls of white rice
cooked and handed over
on white porcelain plates

breakfast is not strange
otherwise if i ask, i will be

strange to all that is expected
to be familiar

in the bathroom i turn on the light
and see the miniature of sun
after the pee and the poo i feel
the softness of tissue and the
cleansing of water

flushing is such a relieving sound
and everything is in order now

the brushing begins and the
mirroring and the parting of hair

the shower gives some songs
life is cool after all and then one

gets used to the usual grooming
putting on socks fitting on belts and

shoes and buttoning shirts and
zippering

one gets outside finally and see the
real world feel the real air and hear
the real sounds of the traffic

one who reads this finds nothing
spectacular

after all
what is spectacular about routine?

and life is just one of those
routines in all your pieces of self
that you scatter all over the office,
the streets, the house
the room

and in all places of the heart and
spleen.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Shadow

Ten coaches roll into the dust
Chrome windows turned to rust
'hand on inside they know they must
Hanging on the green backed words "in god we trust"
No one knew if the spirit died
All wrapped to go like kentucky fried
Tring to read the flight of birds
Low on fuel, getting low on words
And she comes out like a white shadow
She comes out like a white shadow
Each one drawn to empty spaces
Outsiders, borderline cases
It's hard to tell black from white
When you wake up in the middle of the night
Weighed down by the absence of sound
Broken now by the cry of a hound
Looking for movement withing the haze
Light can be deceptive with her rays
And she comes out like a white sadow
And she comes out like a white shadow
She comes out like a white shadow

song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Voice Says In My Heart

Dreaming of a life of peace,
Though I am shattered to pieces.
A damaged spirit, resulting from a defective mind.
Broken and irreparable, so I think.
But my thoughts got me here in the first place.
On my knees, looking up, I see the light.
Shining down on me from above.
It connects with the light inside.
The voices in my head silence.
My mind clears, true vision appears.
'Pick up the pieces.', the soft voice whispers from within.
'Many pieces, put together, makes a piece.'
'That is what you seek isn't it? '
'Give them to me, for the pieces are heavy'.
'What I have created, only I can fix.'
'It was broken by you in the first place.'
'Because I was not your first place.'
'I was your last. I was your end.'
'But now you have reached me, '
'Let me show you what I can do.'
'For I come with an eternal warranty and a misery back guarantee.'
Piece by piece, I was put back together.
Until I was one.
Not one with my thoughts, but one with my maker.
No longer listening to what the voices in my head say.
But to what the voice says in my heart.
As it whispers to me, I can feel it's voice.
'Peace.'

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Life Is As Simple And Enjoyable As Sipping Coffee Early Morning And Enjoying The Scenery Of A Rustic Place

alright,
we simplify this

it is early morning
they have not awakened yet
the house is very peaceful
the windows are closed still
and the doors too

alright
stand, walk towards the window
open all of them
let the cold air come in

then walk towards the door
unlock it
and open it too and then
let the cold air
come in

you want coffee?
go to the kitchen
take a spoon a cup and saucer and
take sugar and coffee and
hot water

you know what to do, right?
feel at home
this is your home

now take your time
sit on a chair
face the trees
stir your coffee
feel it hot
and then sip

enjoy, savor the scenery of
this rustic place

feel the wind on your cheeks
take the warm side of the cup

alright,
is not life as simple as this?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Door

You want all my lovin'.
But just pieces I get.
Just a piece to treat me.

You want my lovin'.
But a tease you give me.
A piece you think will treat and please.

I...I,
Don't like it that way.
No.
I...I,
Can't stop it when you start.
Feeling like a dope,
On a rope choked.

And I...I,
Try to fight it,
But I'm hooked.
With a tail you wag...
You like to see mine,
Hang and drag.

I...I
Don't like it!
I...I
Can't fight it or try.
You know I want more...
But my needs you ignore.

You want all my lovin'.
But just pieces I get.
And,
I...I
Don't like it!
I...I
Can't fight it or try.
You know I want more...
But the teasing of the piece that treats you keep
To weaken me,
Is kept in my mind...
Behind your love door!
And,
I...I
Don't like it!
I...I
Can't fight it or try.
The piece that treats you keep to weaken me...
With teases,
Is behind your love door.

You know I want what's more,
Behind your love door.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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