What Really Happened
at 80
the monk who left the monastery in Utah
and who gave me a book about The Preacher's Daughter
always remembers names
like fr. Fabian
or fr. Lucas or
fr. Damian
when we arrive there
and i am patient as he is deaf
and
agonizing & he asks me to call and check if fr. Fabian is still there
he was there in 2000
and the year after fr. Fabian sent him a card
the cellphone rings and fr Bruno asks who am i
and i pretended to be
Ron, the old monk who is with me now
tracing his past
trying to look for fr. Fabian who died in Polomolok
and he wants to know the cause of death
fr Bruno says
nothing about asphyxiation but that is the lie that
i told Ron
and his face changed like an afternoon
and i can feel
that it was heavily raining
that is what happened
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Birthday Talk For A Child
(IRIS.)
DADDY dear, I'm only four
And I'd rather not be more:
Four's the nicest age to be--
Two and two, or one and three.
All I love is two and two,
Mother, Fabian, Paul and you;
All you love is one and three,
Mother, Fabian, Paul and me.
Give your little girl a kiss
Because she learned and told you this.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Last Exorcism
Ashley Bell, Patrick Fabian, Iris Bahr, Jamie Alyson Caudle, Shanna Forrestall
from The Last Exorcism (2010)
Submitted by Maria
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Bruno Manser
Bruno, Bruno
Where are you?
Are you scaling Batu Lawi?
Are you still up there on Batu Lawi?
Are you still with your
Beloved Borneo tribes?
Where are you Bruno?
Your family are waiting
Your friends are waiting
For you back in Basel
Missing you day and night
Your tribal comrades too
Are longing to see your
Courageous face again
Missing your inspiration
Bruno, Bruno
Are you really on the run?
Away from those
Who are on your heels?
Away from those
Who swear to put
You behind bars?
Away from those
Who wish to send
You back home?
Bruno, Bruno
You are brave
Your are adventurous
You are indomitable
In fighting for your beloved
Borneo brethrens
But Bruno, Bruno
It is a lost cause
Isn't it?
Is there a better
Way to stand up for them?
Is there a better
Way to stand up for them?
Bruno, Bruno
But where are you?
Are you still up there on Batu Lawi?
Are you still up there on Batu Lawi?
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Britain is not a country that is easily rocked by revolution... In Britain our institutions evolve. We are a Fabian Society writ large.
quote by William Hamilton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This most dangerous enemy is the American counterpart of the British Fabian Socialist, who denies that he is a Socialist and operates behind a mask which he calls National Planning.
quote by John T. Flynn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sir Toby Belch [To Fabian and Maria]: Go to, go to! Peace, peace. We must deal gently with him. Let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? How is 't with you? What, man, defy the devil! Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
line from Twelfth Night, Act III, Scene 4 by William Shakespeare (1601)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Song (Did you see me walking by the Buick Repairs?)
Did you see me walking by the Buick Repairs?
I was thinking of you
having a Coke in the heat it was your face
I saw on the movie magazine, no it was Fabian's
I was thinking of you
and down at the railroad tracks where the station
has mysteriously disappeared
I was thinking of you
as the bus pulled away in the twilight
I was thinking of you
and right now
Anonymous submission.
poem by Frank O'Hara
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We the Party
Mandela Van Peebles, Simone Battle, Moises Arias, Patrick Cage II, Makaylo Van Peebles, Orlando Brown, Fabian Alomar, Morgana Van Peebles, Maya Van Peebles
from We the Party (2012)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To James Y. Simpson
Oh teeming heart, that, for this once, in vain
Big with our good, didst undeliver'd die,
Had some god got thee with a progeny
O'er-great, that, born, might even dispute the reign
Of Death, as Death had seen the realms of Pain
Won by thine elder brood? We marvell'd why,
So seeming-careless of his sovereignty,
He spared and spared thee: doth this day explain
The Fabian greed that grudged a needless blow?
Knowing too well what deity possest
Thee, did the dead-eyed strategist foreknow
How the huge god must choke the mortal breast?
The mortal breast, deep under clod and sod,
Out of the half-saved world drag down the abortive god?
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Its Hard To Love
Its hard to love myself today
eventhough i so need it, so feed me
that hunger I really need
Today
Its hard to look into my mirror of hopelesssness
to look in that sad frown who i wish i can turn into a smile
Its so hard
So terribly hard to love
This image of me Today
This man, This lonely man, This Lonely depressed man,
whose beauty is lying inside of me practically dead
Love
Love me today, for I cannot do it for my self today,
Please I need you today............
poem by Fabian Montes
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Elements, Death And Life
Love is like a rose
Rose is the symbol of love
Death is like a wind
wind is the symbol of fading away
Life is like a tree
It grows til it dies
Hate is like a fire
The fire grows intill it hurts somone
The symbol of life is a tree
Trre will burn of hate
The wind blow the hate away
Untill it comes backs
Death is not the opesit of life
Death comes in many natural ways
Like this poem
Like this message
Love is like a drug
You get addicted
You will get burned
At the same time it is good to keep
This love, this hate
The life, the death
Fire, earth, wind and water
Elements of creation
poem by Fabian Blomquist
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Fabian
My name is Fabian and,
There was a time that i loved a woman;
But she kept growing and never looked back.
There was a day that i made love to this woman and,
She kept smiling and never looked back;
For i never knew that she was very lonely.
She cried for love and i satisfied her,
But after some time she went back into the thin air!
She never called back and she never wrote to me;
Then i knew what was wrong,
For this lovely lonely lady who suppose to be mine is gone forever!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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435
The Police Officer Arrested Them
Last Night While They Were Strolling On The Park
And This Is The Story:
He Asks For Their Names And They Say They Have None
He Asks From Where They Come From And They Say
They Do Not Really Know
He Asks Them Where They Are Going And They Tell Him
They Are Still Undecided
He Asks Them What Is In Their Bags And They Say They Are Just Nothing
He Asks Them Some More And They Say
They Have Nothing To Say Of Themselves
They Come From Nowhere
And They Are Heading Nowhere
And The Police Handcuffed Them
These Vagrants
These Potential Terrorists Of This Rural Place
Where The People Still Love Peace
And This Afternoon The Police Officer Brings Them All To Me
And He Tells Me About The Whole Story
About His Questions And Their Answers
And I Am Looking At Them And They Look At Me
Straight In My Eyes
With Dignity And Without Shame
With All Pride
That They Are Telling The Truth, The Whole Truth And Nothing But The Truth
That This One Whose Age Is 16 And This Other One Whose Age Is 18
Are Simply Talking About
Themselves And About Us
And About The Policeman Himself
And Surely, I Agree
We Have No Names, We Do Not Know Where We Come From And We Do Not
Really Know Where We Are Going
We Are All Like That, In The Strictest Sense Of The Word, Except
For Our Little Pretensions
And So I Ordered The Policeman To Release Them All
And Let Them Be Themselves
And Let Them Go In Peace And Finish Their Journey With All Ease
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Is 16 And The Other 18
the police officer arrested them
last night while they were strolling on the park
and this is the story:
he asks for their names and they say they have none
he asks from where they come from and they say
they do not really know
he asks them where they are going and they tell him
they are still undecided
he asks them what is in their bags and they say they are just nothing
he asks them some more and they say
they have nothing to say of themselves
they come from nowhere
and they are heading nowhere
and the police handcuffed them
these vagrants
these potential terrorists of this rural place
where the people still love peace
and this afternoon the police officer brings them all to me
and he tells me about the whole story
about his questions and their answers
and i am looking at them and they look at me
straight in my eyes
with dignity and without shame
with all pride
that they are telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth
that this one whose age is 16 and this other one whose age is 18
are simply talking about
themselves
and about us
and about the policeman himself
and surely, i agree
we have no names, we do not know where we come from and we do not
really know where we are going
we are all like that, in the strictest sense of the word, except
for our little pretensions
and so i ordered the policeman to release them all
and let them be
themselves
and let them go in peace and finish their journey with all ease
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dead Boys Poem
The child sits and weeps,
How could this be all that matters,
Why did this have to hurt so deep,
How could this be life?
The child sits with the pain inside,
He sits with his heart in his chest,
‘How could I have died? ’
Is all he thinks, he forgets the rest.
The child’s eyes closed so tight,
His fists clenched so strong
He feels the night,
He knows everything that happened was wrong.
The child stands and looks into the houses light
He stares at not the window,
Not at the sight,
Yet only for the weeping widow.
The child stands holding the gun,
The gun he died holding,
As he remembers his father killing him, his only son
He remembers his father scolding.
He knows he took a life,
Yet he knows his father took his,
He remembers not the taking of his father’s life,
Only the pain of his father stealing his.
His eyes so dark,
His mind so lost,
His hand tracing deaths mark,
As he remembers it’s cost.
He remembers the scene, the time,
He remembers the look in his father’s face,
He remembers doing the crime,
He remembers seeing the pain in his father’s face.
But then his memory stops,
And reality takes place,
For this is when he dropped,
This is when life left his face.
He walks past,
To eternity; to roam
Of all his memories this shall be his last
For this is the dead boy’s poem.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Alone
Shakin' sugar from a sugar spoon
Peppermint tea afternoon
Alone, alone, alone
Taking a shower take another nap
Watching television take a bath
Alone, alone, alone
Feel like a book, but I just cant start it
Feel like a lover, brokenhearted
Look in the mirror at the face in the glass
Look like a question no one ever asks
Alone
Like I'm supposed to be
Lone lonely alone
Like I'm supposed to be
Go for a walk, go for a drive
Listen to the stereo stay inside
Alone, alone, alone
Feel like a book, but I just cant start it
Feel like a lover, brokenhearted
Look in the mirror at the face in the glass
Look like a question no one ever asks
Alone
Like I'm supposed to be
Lone lonely alone
Like I'm supposed to be
Shakin' sugar from a tablespoon
bitter black coffee underneath the moon
Alone, alone, alone
Feel like a book with a big ghost heart
I didn't finish, I didn't start it
Look in the mirror at the face in the glass
Look like a question no one ever asks
Alone
Like I'm supposed to be
Lone lonely alone
Like I'm supposed to be
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Me?
When the hopes are hassled
And relationships are rattled
Naïveté asks, why me?
When wishes are whacked
And dreams are dashed
Naïveté asks, why me?
When fantasies are fettered
And blessings are battered
Naïveté asks, why me?
When desires are demolished
And ambitions are admonished
Naïveté asks, why me?
When temptations are traumatized
And passions are pulverized
Naïveté asks, why me?
Strangely,
Naïveté with influence
And naïveté with affluence
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with name
And naïveté with fame
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with health
And naïveté with wealth
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with fiefdom
And naïveté with wisdom
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with beauty
And naïveté with booty
Never asks, why me?
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Death Comes To Any Age
There is one story that makes me shudder
And so with care I live each day
It is about a mother and a daughter
Who went to a mall for her birthday.
The mother promised the eight year old
For a cellphone as her requested gift,
Excited to call her Dad, she was told-
As they crossed a street, she ran so swift.
The daughter had crossed ahead and saw
That her mother was left at the other side
And so like a child she ran back although
The lights had changed for the street so wide.
The lights turned to green and it was a 'go'
As all vehicles started to go running
Cars and trucks speeding traffic flow
Not seeing the small child who was just then crossing.
The truck driver saw her but it was too late
The brakes did not have the time to hold
The little girl met her untimely fate
As the truck ran over that eight-year-old.
The hysterical mother went into shock
Seeing her child's brains on the pavement
In grief she almost had a heart attack
Screamed in tears all her anguished lament.
The lesson here that Death teaches us all
One may be eighty or be eight-year-old
But when He chooses to give us a call
With Him, there's no young and there's no old.
This is a true story that happened in our city in front of a big mall. All who witnessed the tragedy were affected by it.
-
February 3,2010
Philippines
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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I Can't Say No
Here I am
There you are
If you ask me to walk a thousand miles just to be where you are,
I can? say no
If you ask me.
If I had a dime, it? yours as well as mine.
I? keep the penny, you know I would and gladly give you the nine.
I can? say no
If you ask me
Ooh, ooh, ooh,
If you told me tonight to get up
Pack my bags let? go away,
I wouldn? even care what my Mommy, what my Daddy might have to say.
?ause I can? say no
If you ask me .
Ooh, ooh no!
(You?e too beautiful to be. to be)
You know I can? say it, baby no!
(You mean everything to me)
No ifs and no maybe?
No!
(that? why I, that? why I, that? why I, that? why)
You know I can? say it baby,
I can? say no
If you ask me.
Ooh ooh ooh. Sometimes I get so angry with him
I walk around I pout all day.
And the he kisses me and asks me do I love him
In a sweet soft sexy kind of way,
I can? say no
If he asks me.
On No I can? say no if he asks me.
I can? so if he asks me
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Metaphysical Discussion
inside the class in philosophy
the professor stans, an old jesuit, with a long white beard,
on a very silent disposition, like a buddhist monk, but in white cassock,
he sits there in front of us, puts his black book on the table,
sits like a Frenchman, and begins to open his mouth, stands
and writes on the blackboard:
WHAT IS DEATH?
that is the lesson for the day, the year was 1982, at the ateneo
de manila university, his name was Fr. O'shaugnessy, Irish, and wise,
finished his doctorate in Loyola University, and he looks at me and
asks me, 'What is death, Ric? '
and i had the answer ready from the metaphysics of Hiedegger
. The word.... has a crucial role in the work of...Hiedegger. Hiedegger defines....an individual's confrontation
with meaningless
and the discovery that the only
justification for one's demeanor
comes from within....that responsibility will
therefore be acknowledged.
that i will surely die
but between life and death
i must be responsible enough
for confront the inevitable
later
that for the meantime
i must live
and confront the demands of life....
and then my teacher
faced the wall, not listening well about
what i had been saying
on the verbosity of it all
and he wrote on the blackboard
below what is death,
what will you do if you will die today?
write an essay, he made the instruction.
i did not submit anything
and for that he gave me an 'A'.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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