What You Do Not Understand Seems To Be The Most Beautiful....
i have a bad voice
so do not expect me to answer your call
what you will hear
will be the sounds of coarse sands
clashing with pebbles
not the slushy sand that
Matthew hints
on his tryst with Eliza
on the secret bank
of the lonely river
albeit
what i ask of you is just read my letters
(or have time
with my poems
concealed symbols lurk there
like an old church
scroll
you will meet an old man
who is cantankerous
who drinks Tanduay all day
and night
and then forgets everything
nasty
and sleeps)
i do not ask for more
because i cannot stay that long
here
or somewhere
the more i put my feet on something stable
the more aches i have
i become sore like my toes
and they scream like
hungry puppies
the chickens feed on dung
and dung becomes justified
as a need
somehow
do not find
or look for consistency
that is passe
have familiarity with one that
is so unrelated like a metaphor
but strikes deep
in the heart of the most logical
connection
for all you know
what you do not get
or understand
at least for the moment
seems to be the most beautiful item of your life
and then the misery comes
when you finally understand it
and it is
bland, it is numb
listen to me
please, read my lips,
that is what the old drunkard
said to
the triumphant
and
startling turtle.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Steal The Thunder
Here you come again, lookin' for another thrill
With your lipstick, high heel shoes, lookin' like you're dressed to kill
Tattoo stuck on you, branded by a chosen few
What short memory, now it's time to pay your dues
Don't you hear a word I say? Just turn your head and look this way
And read my lips, read my lips, listen to me, I'm talkin' to you
Read my lips, read my lips, I'm tellin' you, I'm through with you
I know where you go when you need to get some
Bad little actress on a mattress, it's seduction, anything for you
You don't you hear a word I say, so turn your head and look this way
And read my lips, read my lips, listen to me, I'm talkin' to you
Read my lips, read my lips, listen to me, you're history
I've been watching what you do, and it doesn't take a fool
To see what we've been through, oh, gonna turn the page on you
(Solo)
You don't you hear a word I say, so turn your head and look this way
And read my lips, read my lips, listen to me, I'm talkin' to you
Read my lips, read my lips, oh, I'm through with you
Read my lips, oh, read my lips, listen to me, I'm talkin' to you
Read my lips, read my lips, listen to me, you're history
Oh yeah, read my lips, I said, read my lips, read my lips
Just read my lips
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Loverboy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Read My Lips
Words and music: doug johnson, mike reno, neil shilkin
Here you come again, lookin for another thrill
With your lipstick, high heel shoes, lookin like youre
Dressed to kill
Tattoo stuck on you, branded by a chosen few
What short memory, now its time to pay your dues
Dont you hear a word I say?
Just turn your head and look this way
And read my lips
Read my lips, listen to me, Im talkin to you
Read my lips
Read my lips, Im tellin you, Im through with you
I know where you go when you need to get some
Bad little actress on a mattress, its seduction
Anything for you
You dont hear a word I say
So turn your head and look this way
And, read my lips
Read my lips, listen to me, Im talkin to you
Read my lips
Read my lips, listen to me, youre history
Ive been watching what you do
And it doesnt take a fool
To see what weve been through
Oh, gonna turn the page on you
(guitar solo)
You dont hear a word I say
So turn your head and look this way
And read my lips
Read my lips, listen to me, Im talkin to you
Read my lips
Read my tips, oh, Im through with you
Read my tips
Read my lips, listen to me, Im talkin to you
Read my lips
Read my lips, listen to me, youre history
Oh yeah, read my lips
I said, read my lips
Read my lips
Just read my lips
song performed by by Loverboy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Secret Find....
you know the secret
of the heart, it is
after all, the heart
itself that tells you,
when we go out of the house
slowly as we caress
the soft spots of our body
we throw away imagination
like a kite in the air
albeit we hold upon a string
of our logical deductions,
when i finally find what i
am looking, i take it gently
inside my pocket
and then i go home to
savor what taste is there,
we know what we find
yet we are not telling each other
about it,
it is a secret,
it is life itself,
we keep this secret throughout life
when by the slip of our tongue
this matter is revealed,
you know the consequence,
the heart knows it,
the house falls down,
the sun closes its eye,
the moon burns itself,
the river dries up
the heart shrinks
someone finds finally
the ash beneath the
innocent child's feet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Woman And Poetry
writing poems together
with that woman is so much fun
i write mine, (i am much better than that woman)
i ask her to read my poems she obliges with her spectacles
as she opens her mouth to syllabicate
i gulp some saliva to my mouth
this woman is terrible
she makes me giggle
i have her word for word i have her metaphor per metaphor
there is no time to discuss
i like her to undress this time
i'll take the magic of her word
this time i will open my mouth
this time i will read all of her
i will not discuss i will not understand
i will just feel these metaphors
this mouth this tongue this body
this most important poetry
this love this lust this moment
after we have written
our poems together.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Great Man Who Ate Cow Dung All His Life (secretly)
everyday
he feeds himself
with cow dung
but this is done
discreetly
for who in this
normal world
would like
to satisfy
himself with
dung
who in this
society would
love a man
who eats and
smells like
cow dung?
of course, he
feared
that soon if
society knows
he shall be
another ostracized
ostrich
electrically fenced
and monitored
and segregated
at Ward 8
for social
rehabilitation
he didn't like dung
reason and logic
so tell him well
but he couldn't resist
the smell of dung
even if it is kilometers
away
there is simply this
obsession for
cow dung
and he begins
to salivate even
for the word
dung
and for so many nights
he prayed
that his mind-set be
changed
so that he can prefer
steak
medium rare
than watery cow
dung
life has its own
idiosyncrasies for
he prefers dung
than barbecue
despite his
genius for good
food
and so
not to deprive
himself of what he
really loves
in his whole life
he eats cow dung
stores them in his
refrigerator
and eats cow dung
regularly
savoring every
fiber and enjoying
that rotten
sticky smell of
rotten grass
and leaves or
hay
how he wishes
that the shrink can
teach him to hate
dung
but this never
happened
he never referred
the matter
somehow
for fear of information
leaks
for modesty aside
he is
a great man
in his field of
endeavor
no one knows this
this is his secret
and i have known this
only about a year & a half
after he died
when i found his
black diary hidden
under the
old creaky bed
because it
smells dung
itself
in his
luxurious house
beside
a river
you know him
he is one of the greatest men
in our history
a philosopher
writer
philanthropist
scient ist
artist
sculptor
a genius
who ate cow dung
all his life
well adored by history
a hero for all humanity
the Renaissance man
as they dub him to be
the man who ate
and secretly loved cow
dung all this life
do not bother
let us keep his greatness
history is always right
do not argue
great men
revered the cow
ate cow dung
and become
famous
throughout the life
of history
their names
written in the pages of books
like sticky
piece of dung
but shits
unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes I Find Poems
Sometimes I find poems
Like they were jewels in the sand
So excellently written
A blessing to read and understand.
Sometimes I find poems
Composed like it was a work of art
The writer weaving word tapestry
As he writes diligently from his heart.
Sometimes I find poems
Laced with just verbal grime
With random musings or lost words
That to read them is a total waste of time.
So to the writers who value the pen
With all respect, I give you my salute
With the hope you keep writing again and again
And to this site your work you contribute!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Writing A Poem That You Can Understand So Easily
this is not to insult your intelligence
or your sensibility
your capacity for managing angst,
to see the wholeness
of the matter
in the eye of the needle
where the camel enters where you claim you have seen it,
this, this is it, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river
do you not find wisdom in it, it is filled with questions to be answered:
why is the fox quick
why is it brown? why does it jump on a lazy dog? and is the dog really lazy? is this not offensive to the dogs in the royalty? and why should the river be near? and this bank of the river? is this where the dog lives? or the fox or the dog, do they relate to the word quick and lazy?
i tell you, there is wisdom in every word, no matter where you place it.
every verb serves its purpose in giving us action,
every question calls for an answer
and every period serves the purpose it is intended to be.
rest.
the purpose of an easy poem is to understand it, and so the poem is written in the most familiar language that you know and speak,
period.
i don't want to understand things really, there is no point there.
period.
some poems are not meant to be understood, they are only meant to be read.
period.
some poems are not meant to be digested, they are meant to make
us full, even only for a while.
period.
some poems are written by Someone Else, and this writer does not
even understand it.
period.
rest.......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Call My Name
Ta dah, tah dah, a dutty yo again,
Ta dah, tah dah, a dutty yo again,
So mi go so again
Chorus:
Sometimes I hear yuh calling out my name,
And I can hear deep dung inna mi brain,
If Im a fool I only got myself to blame (self to blame, self to blame),
Well I can see the sign cause Im not blind,
All though your not mine from time to time,
I got to make you know, you are my sunshine (my sunshine, my sunshine)
I love you baby, but yuh nuh love mi back why?
Yuh drive mi crazy cause yuh fi gi mi dat bligh,
Yuh mek mi high, I just cant deny,
Love positive just a build up inna I and I,
Jus gi mi deh privilege and runaway yuh man,
I got the plan fi mek yuh turn on,
Baby, just believe mi cause my word is my bond,
Sometimes I hear yuh, but Im hearing wrong, girl!
(chorus)
Sometimes I hear yuh calling out my name,
And I can hear deep dung inna mi brain,
If Im a fool I only got myself to blame (self to blame, self to blame),
Well I can see the sign cause Im not blind,
All though your not mine from time to time,
I got to make you know that you are my sunshine (my sunshine, my sunshine)
Verse2:
Rude bwoy loving a nuh sumting fi she ramp wid,(true, true)
Everyman him need a woman fi be him live blanket,
If she did say spank it, yuh hold dat and crank it,
If she neva love yuh good, yuh know yuh would a flank it,
Babygirl, yuh know a love yuh, but yuh falla yuh friend dem,
Now yuh gone and break Sean Paul heart in two,
Yuh have deh dappa all a bawl and a mek phone call,
Wah yuh really expect man fi do,
(chorus)
Sometimes I hear yuh calling out my name,
And I can hear deep dung inna mi brain,
If Im a fool I only got myself to blame (self to blame, self to blame),
Well I can see the sign cause Im not blind,
All though your not mine from time to time,
I got to make you know that you are my sunshine (my sunshine, my sunshine)
Verse4:
Tick tock mi get heart attack, When mi hear she leaving and she nah come back,
Mi caan believe mi dream so mi love world just crash,
A lucky ting she neva know weh mi hide mi stash, but
(chorus)
Sometimes I hear yuh calling out my name,
And I can hear deep dung inna mi brain,
If Im a fool I only got myself to blame (self to blame, self to blame),
Well I can see the sign cause Im not blind,
All though your not mine from time to time,
I got to make you know that you are my sunshine (my sunshine, my sunshine)
song performed by by Sean Paul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Metaphor Is Easy To Make
a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall
remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea
remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying
remember time in a bottle
remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly
remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain
just like that
remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end
loneliness
life is like that
you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose
, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose
mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry
good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry
it does not matter
give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings
you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors
so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man
make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions
make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,
bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors
and you are happy
they do not understand a thing
and they will believe that you are God.
for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it
unquestionable.
let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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36
a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall
remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea
remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying
remember time in a bottle
remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly
remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain
just like that
remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end
loneliness
life is like that
you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose
, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose
mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry
good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry
it does not matter
give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings
you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors
so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man
make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions
make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,
bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors
and you are happy
they do not understand a thing
and they will believe that you are God.
for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it
unquestionable.
let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walt Whitman
The master-songs are ended, and the man
That sang them is a name. And so is God
A name; and so is love, and life, and death,
And everything. But we, who are too blind
To read what we have written, or what faith
Has written for us, do not understand:
We only blink, and wonder.
Last night it was the song that was the man,
But now it is the man that is the song.
We do not hear him very much to-day:
His piercing and eternal cadence rings
Too pure for us --- too powerfully pure,
Too lovingly triumphant, and too large;
But there are some that hear him, and they know
That he shall sing to-morrow for all men,
And that all time shall listen.
The master-songs are ended? Rather say
No songs are ended that are ever sung,
And that no names are dead names. When we write
Men's letters on proud marble or on sand,
We write them there forever.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yesterday When I 'Had' Patience
One moment, please.
I think we have a bad connection.
Let me repeat what you just said...
Since I 'know'
I did not hear you clearly.
You expect me,
To tolerate and put up with 'your' nonsense?
To quietly sit and listen to the issues you have,
With your family, their families...
Your neighbors' comments made to you.
And...
My recommendations you dislike.
Because I am not 'sounding' as if I am on your side?
AND when I seek 'your' candid advice...
You find it convenient not to be available,
Because I take up your time?
And you tell me...
I should find less of 'me' in my mind?
Hold up!
I think this connection has crossed the line.
And needs to cease.
If you hear dial tone...
Do not call me back.
From you I am seeking some deep quality peace.
Listen,
Yesterday when I 'had' patience...
And hear this very carefully.
I gave you time and I remember that.
Today I have none!
You have exhausted your free minutes.
And I suggest you kick the cat or 'something'.
But don't bother me.
Find less of 'you' in your mind!
(Click! Conversation over with)
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Learning Zen is a phenomenon of gold and dung. Before you understand it, it's like gold; after you understand it, it's like dung.
Thanks
Today, after going through your verses
It has become much easier to understand the path of life
Now I finally know, that it was a game for you
I cannot blame you, whatever your reasons may be
Finally, I have got the answers
The answers I had been waiting for so long
May be my destiny wanted me to read your actual thoughts
Now, yes I will actually love someone else
Since, after reading those dates when you wrote your thoughts
I know the answer of everything now.
I wish that I had read those thoughts of yours before
As unnecessarily I was torturing myself for so long
Now I know the truth as it is
Thank you My SAI BABA......You Actually Saved Me
This is the end of sorrow.
Goofy, is going to be born now
This sweet goofy will spread love, only love
She actually was never mine, now I know
From this moment on, I am single who is ready to finally mingle.
poem by Rohit Sapra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ayyappa The Naughty God
Ayyappa they called a god
badly I know you
not a god
but they called a god
not to hear from you
but you write from the soul
madly we read it
they called a mad
know this is true
God made words he made soul of songs
song of love
He made us to read, he made you
God, madly made eveything
Without her wondrous words
madly we read a poem from you
They say God made you a naughty
And he gave a godlen hand
hand to write poems
Yes I know he’s mighty good and truthful to you
he drinks with you, stay in the night
There is no god, but madly he writes for us
And he knows everything to dream
So just you call on him God
And he will share his love with you
stay with you, drinks with you
and he quit the room
where we sit together
all the time....
(a poet of our Gods own land)
poem by Thampi KEE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I’m lonely
When I’m lonely
i think for bit,
why do i feel
this bitter loneliness
When I’m lonely
I see people around me
MAKING ME feel
more lonely & everything
still seems the same
When I'm lonely
I sit at home
hold my pen,
take my copybook
& start writing poems
writing what sad life i have
When I'm lonely
I scream at the world
why people become more
selfish & betrayers
Why do I have to be lonely,
Is there no one can understand Me
When I’m lonely
I imagine there is Only
Me in this world,
Just me being lonely
it's better than being with people,
Cause there is no one
Can understand Me
When I’m lonely
I close my eyes,
and I hope to wake up
To surprise,
I hope to find
Some one who'd truely understand Me
Not loneliness to guide me
When I’m lonely
I Come close from God
and then i find that
there is nothing better than
being close from God,
Cause there is no one can understand
except the God,
.................When I’m lonely
..............I put a fake smile on my
.......Face and cheat the
.........................whole world by it.
http: //super23man.skyrock.com/
poem by Oussama samouna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Cut Their Lives
I've read so many poems
Of young ones wanting
To cut their lives
Why is that so abundant?
In this world we all call home
Tears cascade from my eyes
As I read each poets write
Why would you want to be?
Away from your family
And your friends
I know I'm not a saint
Was a zombie most of my life
But at least I'm still breathing
And have my own son
Within my life
I try to understand
The pain you all went through
But it makes no sense to me
To why you want to cut your selves
I shudder to think
If my son would do that too
It would just kill me for sure
Because he is the apple of my eye
I beg I plead with sorrow
Throw away all those nasty knifes
And embrace the gift god gave you
An ever lasting life
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Like That You Stay
i like that you stay,
for a moment inside my room.
i will ask you, those little things
that you can do for me, so you will stay for a while
so i may have a smell of you
so i may see you even for a few seconds
so i may have life.
i ask you to pull the calendar page. It is not
october anymore. Time flies.
you display me the face of november. a sad one.
a face of uncompromising stance. Not not you. Not your love.
you may refuse my feelings, like the way you resist
some sweeter spaces between us. i like you.
i like you to stay even for a moment.
you flatten a crumpled piece of paper and you ask:
there is still something important on this page.
i look at it. some words, not supposedly written
some words, not to be read by anybody.
you read it. how can you understand?
when i always conceal the meaning
of my pain. i am only for me. I understand the rules
of this game.
i like you to stay really. i like you.
but then, i open the door and then you leave.
you have never understood, the silent beats
of my dying heart.
i like it this way. i touch myself still wanting to touch you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark writing....
Dark shadows sneak under the door
As I keep writing these dark lyrics more
Of a nature that's not evil or unkind
Rather of disturbing thoughts in my mind.
They say for everything bad it's found
Something good it has to come around
The weather wouldn't be pleasant if wasn't for the rain
These feelings wouldn't exist if it wasn't for the pain.
I'm doing a storm in a cup of water to prepare
Meanwhile around people don't even care
I pray for my life to not end before these stanzas
But mindlessly I write and write looking for the answers.
My cold dark poems are everywhere
Floating around in the midnight air
Listen, closely you have no choice
These dark words, my deep voice.
Where the world is falling apart,
There lies a dark poem of the heart
Dark poems tell the darkest lines
They make you hear their shrieking cries.
Hold dearly onto your ravaged soul;
Don't find you've let life take its toll
Youll find my dark poems are everywhere
Read them, like them, if you dare….
I am the shadow hiding in the dark
The evil sounds that wake you in the night
I'm a shadow lurking in the dark
Because still it always feels so right
So I write my shadowy poems line by line
But I'm constantly over looked
My brain is fried down to the spine
And my broken heart is cooked
I'm left only with part of a heart
That will never again beat
I'm the one person
No one has to meet
I am a shadow lurking in the dark
Writing my poems so deep
Whispering my words so stark
Pray your soul to keep…
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Read Today A Hundred Poems
I read today a hundred poems
And cannot find
A single one that moved me -
Perhaps it is not the poems
But my poetic soul
that has no life -
I remember a poem
I read yesterday by Neruda
How beautiful how deep
How filled with passion and longing-
How rich in surprise-
I marvel at the greatness
Of his Poetry of Love-
There is Poetry
One only has to read a true poet
To find it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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