What I Like For Now...
i like direct statements
candid words
few
nothing curved
fire
shrapnels
murder then
vanishment
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Want Me To Simplify My Life..to Be
to be just
simple and say clearly what i what you to understand
less words perhaps
no signs no picture even
just a glance or a touch or a tap on the shoulder
to be direct, candid, straighforward
to tell the truth, this truth and nothing but the truth
no words
how can i tell you? how can i give you the signs
how can i be direct and candid and straightforward
how can i ever tell the truth
when all these years i do not know anymore
about anything
when what i know is only to survive
at all costs
do you think that i still have the truth or the courage to tell you
about it
the truth? do you really need the truth inorder to live?
tell me, why and what?
learn first and teach me how
let us perhaps begin again from the time when we were born
from the time when we first give them our
big cry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Knife
Slit and
Slither knife
Penetrate in phallic push
To perforate the pulse of tissues in the flesh
Slice a vein to drain the unsuspecting victim
E’er they bleed and plea
Their scream
Of death
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Premeditation
Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
Caressing, dancing, writhing round
Your metal form-
Whetted ‘gainst a lonely bone,
Then to probe the pounding, begging heart.
And all the while the prey will howl
Before they crumple; greet the mud-
A taut and unbelieving jowl
Will open out for giving blood-
A vent from down below,
Once a brutal show
Of metal in the man.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Dire Wolf
In the timbers to fennario, the wolves are running round,
The winter was so hard and cold, froze ten feet neath the ground.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
I sat down to my supper, twas a bottle of red whisky,
I said my prayers and went to bed, thats the last they saw of me.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
When I awoke, the dire wolf, six hundred pounds of sin,
Was grinning at my window, all I said was come on in.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
The wolf came in, I got my cards, we sat down for a game.
I cut my deck to the queen of spades, but the cards were all the same.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
In the backwash of fennario, the black and bloody mire,
The dire wolf collects his dues, while the boys sing round the fire.
Dont murder me, I beg of you, dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
No, no, no dont murder me. I beg of you,
Dont murder me. please, dont murder me.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Our Own Limitations To Write
in our own limitations
we dream what to write and we try hard to write
them all this morning in the most direct and candid manner
understandable
to get the message through each reader also looking for the cure
of their emptiness
this madness that never stops until the words have no meaning anymore
until there is no more purpose in every syllable
do not wait, just keep on going, there is this train that runs to nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Candid, Frank
Frank made love to Candid
last night
Candid groaned and
Frank could not help
but explode
and say afterward ' i love you'
candid to please Frank
says ' i need you'
Candid had an orgasm
on Subtle
Frank knew, but his love
always Understands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kinder Murder
Here in the bar, the boys like to have fun
Theres a wager lost and an argument won
Theres a stone-washed damsel on a junk food run
Its a kinder murder
Theres a ladder to heaven from a battered stiletto
Spitting out the words that he put into her mouth
See her in silhouette going down south
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
She could have kept her knees together
Should have kept her mouth shut
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
Jimmy took her down to the perimeter fence
He was back in half an hour, he said he left her senseless
Then he went back to his regiment
Its a kinder murder
The officer said it has to be denied
Theres a tear-stained would-be teenage bride
All the family pride in the little ram-rider
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
She could have kept her knees together
Should have kept her mouth shut
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
The child went missing and the photo fit his face
Dishonoured jimmy just read about the case
He said that he was just taking up space
Its a kinder murder
Jimmy took his best friends keys from the pile on the table in a flash
He was dreaming of the pigskin seats and the walnut dash
The knickers in her handbag and the one false eyelash
Its a kinder murder
Its a kinder murder
She could have kept her knees together
Could have kept her mouth shut
Its a kinder murder [4x]
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forth went the candid man
Forth went the candid man
And spoke freely to the wind --
When he looked about him he was in a far strange country.
Forth went the candid man
And spoke freely to the stars --
Yellow light tore sight from his eyes.
"My good fool," said a learned bystander,
"Your operations are mad."
"You are too candid," cried the candid man,
And when his stick left the head of the learned bystander
It was two sticks.
poem by Stephen Crane
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The Follower
she was looking for something
direct and clear
something so candid and
distinct
something so particular and
descriptive of her
state, every moment identifying
with what i have once offered
to the gods
to please and appease them
she was looking for that
kind of pain
that inner struggle that sigh
i am at a loss and i say i am sorry
i am reborn and i don't have them anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words of Fire
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
With the force of a steam train,
With the speed of a bullet,
You hit me.
You knocked me off my high horse,
Upon the ground I lay,
Unable to move,
Such is the power of your word,
You hit me.
When first I read your word,
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
The threat of culpable damnation,
The gift of undeserved salvation.
You are the living Word,
The only word,
Who was,
Who is,
Who is to come.
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
Words of Eternity,
Words of Fire,
That burn within my heart.
From my youth,
My hair now grey,
Those words of Fire,
Those words of Power,
My life maintained.
poem by Steven Reeve
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A second type of direct evidence is formed by statements, whether as formal legends or personal information, regarding the age or relative sequence of events in tribal history made by the natives themselves.
quote by Edward Sapir
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Murderer
I murder in the morning
I murder late at night
l murder when the time is right
l murder my family
l murder my friends
l murder anyone who gets in my way
l kill you with a gun
l kill you with a knife
l kill you with poison
l'm a murderer
l'm going to kill you now
don't scream
don't yell
don't fight me
just sit there and
DIE
DIE
DIE
DIE! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Rebecca Succes
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Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder” (The Billion-Dollar Question)
We must all stay aware…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder….,
It’s been increasing for years….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can’t dare turn our backs….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
It’ll sneak up and kill us…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe and conceive….
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
That’s why so many are blind….,
To the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
We’ve seen the bloody attacks…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
So we must face the facts….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Yes they’re after us all…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
Their radical religion condones it….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can we control it or stop it….,
So it won’t go any further….? ? ?
That’s the billion-dollar question….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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If indeed you must be candid, be candid beautifully.
quote by Kahlil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Were To Write A Poem For You
if i were to write a poem for you
i would rather be direct
and candid, my metaphors
are obvious and concrete
and the allusions
need not be hazy
as to confuse you
from my heart
write it: i love you.
it is you that i love
there is no other
every night i whisper
this to the moon and all the stars
giggle as they listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Statements
STATEMENTS
Statements wide, too neatly cut and dried,
approach the truth as close as most the moon,
name chalk as cheese, cheese chalk, kite thoughts buffoon
in passing caught, hot air - [t]weak tongues untied.
15 April 2001 revised 14 September 2006
robi03_0932_robi03_0000 XXX_JXX
Statements Poem (c) Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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On Writing
unlike those who have already names
encrypted in royal tablets
i, this candid, good-for-nothing
scribbler
servant of the simple words,
direct from the heart
a knife of my mind
stabbing sleepy somethings
and someone Else's
hereby offer you the most straightforward request
that for you to be one of us
there is only one thing to do
think for yourself and write for yourself
and do the things you like to do with sincerity
you may read much
a roomful of books written by those who had been there
centuries ahead of us
but always take note
you are either more or less than them
perhaps in reality
much lesser and this will be a big
dismay
a retrogression
a depression for not being one with/of them
in tone and performance
they are expert acrobats in the theater of words
as you begin this journey finally
relax, be cool, as i am telling you,
begin from the heart
walk with the free and open mind
let your hands fall freely
beside your thighs and then step outside the door
take that walk casually
as though you are heading for nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Murder The Government
I wanna see the constitution burn
Wanna watch the white hourse overturn
Wanna witness some blue blood bleed red
I wanna tar and lynch the kkk
I wanna pull and shoot the nra
I wanna pay the lobbyists to kill themselves
I wanna dose the dea
I wanna join the cia (not really)
Murder the government, murder the government
Murder the government, and then do it again.. yeah
Murder the government, murder the government
Murder the government, and then
Murder the government
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death of the Poet
How can one be betrayed by death
Be cheated out of living
Hate filled heart, blood shot eyes
Cold-bloodily will be of it
Heart empty beats uneven
Let I revenge all before death
With every breath vengeful fire
Let I take my life for you
Murder the old lady shall scream
Murder from the top of her lungs
The poets dead! - triumphal wreath
I am gone now to another planet
Please if not all hold onto my words
These are but just simple genius
Manifold a great poet of the time
I cut my wrist so I can write in blood
Paint a portrait of vivid images
Pull out my vain and hung it up
What a bloody mess I have caused
Shocked as their eyes wonders
They have seen the silent murder
They have slain the poet.
poem by Obinna Nwerem
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The Predicament
Joined by the funeral, we sit down,
under the blue sky, fire watching, sequentialling
the processions. Ultimately one by one they come,
to dust, hands turned down. After close of the rainbow
there is an explosion and a transition
censored by stone age. They flee from the shrapnels
to swathe in bioluminence of death. The penury
makes a fanciest atrocity.
A pockmarked moon stands there to listen
the scandalized whispers of crulest legends
in century’s hopelessness, guilt’s bleeding.
You never chained the voice of booms. A god
mourns in fading light.
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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