When I Talk And Think About Albert
sometimes
(did i tell you that this is my
favorite word?)
i am shocked by my own
ingenuity
(sometimes i equate it with
shallowness
a loquacious mouth of the river
falling upon
a rock and smashing its
hands on the
floor of the
earth)
i blame myself for
changing the meaning of a word
like the way
i am changing the meaning of
my life
(or perhaps the lives of
other people
around me)
creating landscapes
putting trees where there are
no mountain
putting talkative women
in the house where
the house is still a
thought
(a student wants to say
i am crazy
but there is also a doubt
whether i am
one
she has the wisdom of
keeping her
mouth in the silent
mode)
i am not stupid
not crazy i still know what right
is,
i can still tell you
who are those in the left
side of the
equation
one day
i redefined a poem
it need not be a house
with a door and
windows
i can simply be stairs
or path
it can simply be a star
on the roof
it can simply be a conversation
without a direction
like a Freudian dialogue on
the sofa
where comfort is actually
moving the paths
of meteors
with a broom and
light
(do you always talk
to achieve
fulfill a mission?
what is your mission?
what is your
purpose?)
women go to the market
buy some things
for the kitchen
they do not linger upon a
talk
men go to their work
thinking about their kids
most of the time
they do not bother about
work really
they also dwell in the bodies
of other women
about those nights away
from the eyes
of their wives
people have scattered minds
unto each other
they pretend that they are devoted
into something
worthwhile
kids go to school
carrying bags filled with books
that they do not bother really reading
if they have to be honest
about who they are
the only care for the games of their
minds in those
playgrounds and
play stations
what kind of world is this
there are only so few
that live
so many people are going to
the places of death
without really knowing
each step
the famous man (you know his name)
discovered the bomb
and from then own
they own all these countries of this world
he is the real meaning and so they claim
him to be
the only meaning of this world
a nuclear god
who cannot die in that history of pain
and misery
may his soul (if he has one)
rest in peace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Please Do Not Be Disappointed With My Poetry
in the first place i do not really rhyme
not that i can't but i don't because i like it to be just that
like my life, i do not really rhyme with the world
there is more conflict
than harmony, i do not jibe and jam well with
yes, anybody, it simply takes time for them to really understand me
more more time for me too to understand them
and like them
and like me, as though living life is just a matter of liking each other
period, and not really trying to learn and be compassionate
and have this little sense of tolerance
this sense
of perhaps, he is just ekking his way to a steep mountain of his
trying hard
(copycat) of just trying to live in authenticity
honesty, that is the simplest word we can say
i always think of other things
sometimes people are just cruel
they want patterns they want people to be like other people
setting models
and trails made also by men and women with the usual human brains
poor judgments come and we do not bother we simply want others to
live normal lives
nothing deviant, shy away from the genius of ingenuity
trekking new paths
not minding the dangers of the unknown spreading like a red carpet
before our feet
back to poetry, this is my poetry and by now you have noticed
they are written as they come inside my mind
no patterns no molds no shape no expectations no
AA BB CC DD
just plain talk, spontaneous, like a tear falling from your eyes
shaping itself to pain and then falling without style
like a candle melting to the fire and shaping itself
in the air
there is simply no dictation of where and how and what
like ourselves our lives like chocolates in the box
of Forest Gump
we just don't know what we really get
we just let go
and let live and then die and be buried
tears for a while, and then
yes, forever forgotten.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Star Alone Star
star
alone star
shining, twinkling, moving
just being what you are;
star alone star
though watching minds make of you a meaning
a wish, or a symbol
but alone star you are simply what you are;
star alone star
unlike men, women
unlike intelligence that must form and associate
who must be this or that
conditioned and grown and nurtured
and shaped
and programmed;
but you star
alone star
not like this or that
but simply natural, what you are
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fears of A Mad Man In The Office
forgive me
i am an unthinking human being
i am exhausted
and feeling like a wall of a house
the roof makes no sense to me
or the stairs
which she finds
to be filled with meaning
i am not that road
i go nowhere
and i do not stretch
to places
forgive me
but i am too tired to think about what you are thinking
now
it is my fingers
simply moving
and not knowing what it is doing
just following the water of the river
without fish
and moss
forgive me
for having wasted your time
i am tense
and i have fears about things that yet to come
i do not even know
i am afraid
and so forgive me
i am contagious and may destroy what ever mood
you may have today
and so forgive
me for taking you to the last line of this poem
it is this
nothingness that attacks me
like a bullet in my head
and so
forgive me
i am dead or
i am just playing dead because i am afraid.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Without You
Feel so alone and sad
As if the meaning of being alive, exists no more
Nothing I have and nobody is here for me
Often, I feel so lost
Do not know where I belong, since without you life has no meaning
It is better to die than to live a lost life
I know you do not hear me anymore because you simply do not care
Knowing, I will have to be without you for the rest of my life
Feels really terrible and no words can explain this sadness of mine
An empty life I have
In which I am just a lost soul, with no meaning left to live
It is better to die, although even death does not come that easily
Just feel very sad, without you my love.
poem by Rohit Sapra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Those Years Of Separation.....
years separated us
when we meet again there will
be usual questions like
how is life? did you marry?
how many kids? how old are they now?
where do you work?
where do you live now?
i am tired of all these questions,
frankly i am not interesting and nothing interests me
perhaps
i was made sour by all those years,
but sometimes i may compromise
(but not a civil as you may think me to be) and
so i have my answers now, like
life is not really that miserable.
i got married, no kids only dogs in the house
(not applicable) ,
oh i work with a gavel,
and i live in my navel.
perhaps i am just dissatisfied with what
life has given me,
and you who claim to have kids like grapes
work like heaven, house like a castle,
and you who is like a story with a
happily ever after ending,
well, thank God, you are like everybody else,
you own a wife, and kids and house,
yourself is multiplied, your face is xeroxed,
your wealth is not just well preserved but
progressed like
hell,
you have chattels and servants and perhaps slaves
and submarines and nuclear weapons,
you have a brand new car,
an excellent paycheck,
by all means, to my mind, you are a superhero
and you have everything
everything
and yet, oh well, just like rest of the people in this world
you are never, never contented, you still ask for more
how much? how long? how wide? no one knows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Talking to Patrizia
Patrizia doesn't want to
Talk about love she
Says she just
Wants to make
Love but she talks
About it almost endlessly to me.
It is horrible it
Is the worst thing in life
Says Patrizia
Nothing
Not death not sickness
Is as bad as love
I am always
In love I am always
Suffering from love
Says Patrizia. Now
I am used to it
But I am suffering all the same
Do you know what I did to her
Once?--speaking
Of her girlfriend--I kicked her out
I literally kicked her she was down on the floor and I
Gave her the colpi di piedi the
Kicks of my foot. She slided out.
She did this
To me promised to go on a trip
I am all waiting prepared
Suitcases and tickets
She comes and says her other friend finds out she
Can't go she guessed about it. I KICKED her out
Oh we are still together
Sometimes. But love is horrible. I thought
You might be the best
Person to talk to Patrizia since you
Love women and are a woman
Yourself. You may be right Patrizia
Said. But this woman who abandons
You I think you should
Disappear. Though maybe with this woman
Disappearing won't work.
I think not disappear.
It's too bad I don't know her
If I knew her if I could see her
Just for ten minutes--I'm afraid
If you saw her you might take
Her away from me. Patrizia
Laughs. No it hasn't happened to me
Thank God to like such young women yet
Why? When you are my
Age--still young--she
Is thirty . . . nine? you are close enough
To people very young to
Know how horrible they are
And you don't love them
You don't want to have anything
To do with them! Oh
Uh huh, I said putting
My hands down on the table and then off
Look at you excuse me but I have to laugh
At you sitting in this horrible
Restaurant at one o'clock
In the morning in a
City you don't want to be
In and why? For this woman.
It is horrible I know but
Also funny
I know I said. Listen I have
An idea. Do you know her address? You know where
She lives? You should go there
Go and hide there
Outside her house
In the bushes
Then when she comes out
You jump out
You confront her. You will see
If there is love
In her eyes or not. It can't
Be hidden. You will know It can't be mistaken
This works This has always worked
For me. It won't work for me. I can't
Go and hide there It is true
Patrizia says when there is love everything
Works when there isn't nothing does. Love
Is a god These Freudian things I don't believe at all
This god you have to do what
He wants you to you are
Angry but all you really want
Is to get her back. Then--revenge! If
This woman did something like this to me
I would simply dislike her in fact
I would hate her You may want to consider
Patrizia said that this woman is
Doing this test to you. No, I
Said. I know she's not. I know something. I feel
A hundred years old. Yet
You don't look so bad, Patrizia said.
Find another woman. I can't. I
Know Patrizia said. But one always thinks it
Is a good idea. But
If you can't you can't. I
Can't even eat
This food Patrizia I said.
I'm sorry I said Patrizia to be so
Boring I can't stop talking Forgive
Me. It doesn't bore me at all
Patrizia says It's my favorite subject
It isn't every day one sees somebody
In such a state you can help him by talking to stay alive
You know, Patrizia says if she
Does this thing to you now
She will do it again
And again so you'd better be ready
Maybe you can get the advantage
By saying she is right you
Don't love her Good bye You leave
However if you want her
You should go into the bushes
And surprise her when they see you
It always makes a difference
I can't go hide there Patrizia
That's insane. I went but not
Hiding and not confronting.
Patrizia: What did she say? I said
The same things. Patrizia said
Did you see love in her eyes? I said
No. I didn't. I saw
Something else. In Florence it's rainy
Her (relatively) short hair and
Her eyes along the Arno
The last time I'll ever see her again
As the one I am seeing again
When seeing again still has some meaning.
It's finished Patrizia's saying
For now but don't worry
I think you will get her back
But it will be too late. Oh Patrizia I
Let my back and head fall against
The chair Late isn't anything!
poem by Kenneth Koch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Reflection Of A Shiny Object (*)
Make as much money as I can…
That's my ideology.
Let the blood drip through
These dead fingers…
My money is as dirty
As my mind…
I don't care about love
Much less making it…
I don't know how to love myself…
Much less how to love someone else.
I live for the green…
I'm so lost…
This is all I got…
How can anyone love this?
How can anyone love what I've become?
I underestimate myself…
But no!
I can do so much with money…
I can travel around…
The people around me,
Will envy me…
And not actually travel with me…
But I'll make them envy me…
You don't understand!
I have nothing left!
Best things in life are free…?
Ha! No such thing!
The good has a high price tag on it…
You buy it…
And then…
And then it becomes yours…
All mine!
Yeah, all mine.
Mine…
Mine…
Am I sounding like a two year old?
No…
I need to get my share!
You never know what can happen…
There's nothing else inside…
Empty…
Why?
Why do I feel so empty?
So angry?
They just would never get me...
Never…
They seem like good people though…
Oh, but they probably didn't have it as bad as me…
I have a reason to be this way!
They don't know what it's like to be me!
Because they're not me!
We have nothing in common!
Nothing!
Well…
We look pretty similar…
Have the same emotions…
But no!
We're very different!
Different stories!
If only I could have all the money in the world…
I would make people bow in front of me…
Kiss my feet…
Since there's no god…
I can play god…
They'll fall for it…
They always do…
Ha! I'm so clever!
I can barely contain myself!
…
You know…I just don't give a f***!
I don't give a f*** about children!
I don't give a f*** about women!
I don't give a f*** about f***ing trees!
Trees…chop them up and make me some money!
Ha! I'm so clever!
I hate those savages…
Those hippy a**holes…
They don't know how good it is to have power…
That's why they don't want it…
Yeah…that's exactly why they don't want it…
They just like listening to rock and roll…
Touching each other's hair with those dirty hands…
They're so stupid…
Seriously…I don't know how they can live with themselves…
You know? For being so stupid…
And dirty...
With their dancing…
And singing…
What the f***, right?
Grow the f*** up!
Get a nice car, nice house…
Travel all over the world…
Never look like a loser…
Never!
So embarrassing to be poor…
Damn…I'd rather die before being poor…
But how do they look so happy without money?
They're just stupid…
Yeah…that's why…
They don't get it…
Just don't get it…
Their nature, spiritual talk…
So boring!
They do create some crazy sh*t though…
But no…they're so stupid…
I don't even get that crazy stupid art…
Idiots…
They're idiots…
Yeah…
Hum…
Yeah…
And f***ing women…
I make them my wh*res…
Yeah…women are such wh*res…
Dumb little wh*res…
Yeah…
Yeah…
Ah…whatever…
What the f*** am I doing talking to a f***ing mirror?
poem by Erica Borges
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Everybodys Crying Mercy
I cant believe the things Ive seen
I wonder bout some things Ive heard
Everybodys crying mercy
When they dont know the meaning of the word
A bad enough situation
Is sure enough getting worse
Everybodys crying justice
Just as long as theres business first
Toe to toe
Touch and go
Give a cheer
Get your souvenier
People running round in circles
Dont know what theyre headed for
Everybodys crying peace on earth
Just as soon as we win this war
Straight ahead
Knock em dead
Pack your kid
Choose your hypocrite
Well you dont have to go to off broadway
To see something played absurd
Everybodys crying mercy
When they dont know the meaning of the word
Nobody knows the meaning of the word
When they dont know the meaning of the word
Nobody knows the meaning of the word
Nobody knows the meaning of the word
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Discernment
once it was the clarity that i sought
and there was none and all i had is doubt
once i was sure of myself
and believed it to be so such stuff that is stiff
until i became a river of stool
and everything in there is foul
and i slept and i wake up and i thought
about what are those that landed in my spout
perhaps clarity is not what must be sought
neither doubt
for who wants doubt to rule our lives
as though we do not live in a world of lies
upon some layers of
historical rocks and socks?
and then i simply look around me
simply describing what comes and what passes on a day
a bus loading passengers
hands waiving gears
a very calm sea
a wharf where boats are free
a house by the mountain
fireflies feasting on the rain
a tree crown at night
beside a river up tight
sounds of owls and
ghouls
a rain that starts
pouring
on the roof of the house
listening
simply listening
much about nothing
about these things
as they are
disregarding
who we are
every moment is an act to be done
spic and span
every hour
an spectator
every second simply
passing line
beyond the edge
of a clean page
i do not think for the future now
in the same manner that i let the past sleep like it were dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Is...?
What is the meaning of hate?
Is it the dislike of someone different than you?
Or is it the loathing of something simple like broccoli?
What is the meaning of discrimination?
Is it the hatred of someone of a different background?
The hatred of skin color;
Or is it the bitter taste of being different from everyone else?
What is the meaning of uniqueness?
Is it the purpose of being odd and unusual?
The adaptation to your own life and style;
Or is it the stereotypical clan that society has put you?
What is the meaning of life?
Is it that time keeps moving; leaving us in the dust is leaves behind?
The endless stream of consciousness that everything has;
Or is it the meaningless and indefinable thing we give every day?
What is the meaning of death?
Is it that grim reaper knocking at your door?
The inky blackness of nothing;
Or is it something that can’t be defined only experienced when it is time?
Many questions are asked everyday without even meaning to ask them.
They are hidden within the minds of those who are too afraid to speak out;
To let THEIR voices be heard.
So I ask you these questions in hope that you will ask them yourself;
To find the meaning of it for yourself and not what others say it is.
One final question is all I leave you with.
What is the meaning of everything that you thought you knew?
poem by Regan Meade
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writ On The Steps Of Puerto Rican Harlem
There’s a truth limits man
A truth prevents his going any farther
The world is changing
The world knows it’s changing
Heavy is the sorrow of the day
The old have the look of doom
The young mistake their fate in that look
That is truth
But it isn’t all truth
Life has meaning
And I do not know the meaning
Even when I felt it were meaningless
I hoped and prayed and sought a meaning
It wasn’t all frolic poesy
There were dues to pay
Summoning Death and God
I’d a wild dare to tackle Them
Death proved meaningless without Life
Yes the world is changing
But Death remains the same
It takes man away from Life
The only meaning he knows
And usually it is a sad business
This Death
I’d an innocence I’d a seriousness
I’d a humor save me from amateur philosophy
I am able to contradict my beliefs
I am able able
Because I want to know the meaning of everything
Yet sit I like a brokenness
Moaning: Oh what responsibility
I put on thee Gregory
Death and God
Hard hard it’s hard
I learned life were no dream
I learned truth deceived
Man is not God
Life is a century
Death an instant
poem by Gregory Corso
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Want To Slow Down?
Rushing here and rushing there, men in a hurry to get just where?
Racing down the highway of life, creating on the roads such strife.
When arriving at their destination, what then is their consolation?
Only more racing through the day, and more grief along the way.
Each day begins a hectic pace, appearing to grip the human race,
Men never stop to take a breath; before long they’re facing death.
Many lives simply go too fast, pursuing things that just won’t last.
Is there maybe a better way, to begin and end each passing day?
What matters when all is done; isn’t life more than work and fun?
Is there not a deeper meaning, to give purpose to our very being?
Seemingly facing death after birth, when living life upon this earth,
Is there something better friend, when our lives come to the end?
If you could only slow your pace, you could then join another race,
You could join the race with Christ, a race that ends in Eternal Life.
Slowing down to hear God’s voice, can be for you another choice,
Just take the time and He is heard, upon the pages of God’s Word.
In The Bible, you will see His plan, for the earth and for every man,
A plan that gives our life meaning, and in His Son a new beginning.
With a life of purpose and peace; an eternal life that will not cease,
And all that you must do to start, is to accept Christ into your heart.
(Copyright ©03/2007)
The Deterioration Of The Word Hello
the indifferent man on the other side
of the cyber line
perhaps has misunderstood my
hello
as a mode of great concern
thinking that i must be a man without means
with ignoble intentions
for his silence
hmmm, hellos are cliches
sometimes you say it
just to check if people are still there
more of
hey i am not alone in this silence
there are too many of us
to be ignored
by that usual indifference
that feeling that everybody is gone
deep to the caves of
death
and that this world is numb
and foolish
hello if he knows somehow
is of the lesser kind
inferior to
good morning i am here
bastardized abused
word that for a time
exists on a faded meaning
in fact
demoted deteriorated to
no meaning at all
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Monday Morning 21 May 2012
Never mastered the technique of carrying
meaning from one context to another, while
smiling in the car about last night on my way
to work, knowing which principles had been
symbolised, I am flabbergasted as to place
when in the work situation
I fail to become engrossed enough in the game
of Monopoly played as a means to earn a salary,
following arbitrary rules to keep us occupied and
move electronic documents from file to file; what
is the essence of being, can I hold on to myself
while being a child
In a reality of idiosyncratic activity without any
inherent meaning or long-term purpose except
to pass the time in such a way that bundles of
results can be quantified; those who profess to
know say simply being busy is joy in itself - but
somehow I need to invest
Everything with meaning to ensure relevance
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
i- Formation
I remember when I was 10, and my cousin told me about I-formation,
some football code that to me was de-tenacious...
I remembered the name cause it sounded sweet...
I found anouther word that everyone else thoght that the meaning was peteite...
To me the word I-formation is a rerpresentaion of a stupid football code...
like when they went in football mode...
while i was thinking about the stupid football code...
i thought it was interesting, the word and it's meaning...
of getting in order from shortest to biggest...
that just sounded kind of meaningless...
but it was funy cause thats how the world really is...
Bigest, to Smallest is hard to miss
poem by Onyx Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
World Without Mercy
When your words have no meaning
And you're known as no one,
Am i someone to you,
Someone to turn to,
Even when others turn away?
Even though others turn away?
When history blurs,
And every man, women, and child,
Are left outside with no phones to be dialed,
You can't call me, i can't you.
You can't call me, i can't you.
In a world without mercy,
People dine outside your door.
In a world without mercy,
You don't have to lie anymore.
You don't have to cry anymore.
When laughter loses all its humor
And the joke is on you,
Don't take it so personal,
All this world reversal.
The things they said don't matter anyway.
The things they said don't matter anyway.
In a world without mercy,
People dine outside your door.
In a world without mercy,
You don't have to lie anymore.
You don't have to cry anymore.
Oh, can it be so painful?
Can it be so blind?
Love is vicious angel,
Fluttering wings, trapped inside your mind.
When your words have no meaning
And you're known as no one,
Am i someone to you,
Someone to turn to,
Even when others turn away?
Written by brian ritchie/victor delorenzo
defendimusics
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Abandoned House And The Man Who Drags His Shoes To Make The Necessary Sound
when you arrive in the house
(the house that both of you built 17 years ago)
no one is there
not even the three white dogs
you have accepted this face of loneliness
without a mouth
it is its nature now
gentle in silence
there is nothing to talk about with someone else
when someone else is far away and seemingly taking all the hearts out
the door and the hinges have to keep things for themselves
for in truth, those who left the stairs
they still love
you have the key to the door of the kitchen
and that is where you start the journey towards the living room
you scurry on some little memories
it is like putting some words in your notes
in here and there beyond the margins
but it is not that endless really
for whatever it be
joy or death there's got to be an end
that is the truth of the meaning of
this word
it could be a dead-end
a street of walls
& then actually you are caught
in flagrante
where your only choice
is to go back,
retrace,
remember,
refresh
refrains, refrains
of a
love song
you go back to the room look longingly at the bed
the blankets are dusty and the pillows are stained with so much emptiness
or guilt
scruples
Freudian analysis
Carl Jung's other possibilities
of reconciliation
this is a very soundless world and
every part here is keeping its mouth shut
their layers of concealment are thick
and their canopies of
self-defenses are hard
you feel like this is one kind of a giant shell
and you are inside it
its flesh
all blistering
flesh
you decide to wear your shoes all throughout this scrutiny
this journey into marriage
into childlessness
into what if's
you drag your feet with your shoes on
as though someone is suffering and wanting to die
and you hold the collar
and you hurt the backbone
and in that open window
you imagine that someone may finally
jump like a scared cat
nine lives
thirty-six softest feet
you purposely make a sound with your shoes
tapping and tapping
and tapping
to create those sounds
of the past dances
just to fill an empty room
some thoughts jump out of the window
dressed in euphemisms
as the ceiling creates its own crankiness
its cloudiness
nine cats in you jump out that window
falling softly on the grass below
all thirty-six
dreams
it is nice to see of course
nine unharmed cats like fluffy cotton blown by the wind and gently
softly land on the grass
it is no wonder
why men sometimes invoke the sound of their whistling
indeed it is by this time
very relaxing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Suffering From Head Wounds
Those told what to do most of their lives,
What to think, how to think...
What not to believe or listen to.
And who is stupid,
Because of their physical appearances...
Are those who are most traumatized,
By the sign of these rapidly changing times.
Not all...
But most people have been conditioned to believe,
That the unchanged color of a house...
Also determines what goes on inside.
No matter how many renovations have taken place.
Or evolving maturities of the people living in it.
All people will do is to talk about what they 'knew'.
Or what they've been told.
And...
Most of the time what is known,
Had been heard from one's now grown children...
Or a pet dog or cat,
Programmed to be reliable.
But not from the horse's mouth!
People rather beat their horses to death,
Repeatedly.
Those told most of their lives,
What to think, how to think...
What not to believe or listen to.
And who is stupid,
Because of their physical appearances...
Are those who are most traumatized,
By the sign of the times.
Without being medicated,
Few people are sure if and when they should...
Take a left or right turn,
Why and for what purpose.
And if they should or should not ignore,
Signs that warn them to yield and pay attention...
With caution!
People have been taught to believe and do as they please,
Because...
Well,
They are entitled to do so for the rest of their lives.
'Medic...
There's another one over here suffering from head wounds.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poem Analysis
Robert Villanueva
Period EB Gysin
3/9/09
Poem Analysis: “Why Must U Be Unfaithful”
Tupac Shakur always experimented with poetry even when it had nothing to do with music. Many of his poems dealt with women, women’s rights and what they go through. For example, the poem “Why Must U Be Unfaithful.”
This poem’s title is in general, although under it, it says “4 Women.” This certainly pertains to women. But the speaker, Tupac, is speaking towards men. The first line has one word, (1) “Men! ” He talks about how men and their hearts are both selfish and it has no brain. That means it can’t think for itself. He says (7) “..mortal men fall in love.. (8) ..as fast as their face changes.” Meaning they go from girl to girl breaking hearts. He mentions (11) “empty vows and.. (12) ..broken promises.” Towards the end of the poem he explains how (14) “women aren’t perfect but why should a man not be loyal to a woman’s heart is true.” Everyone makes mistakes, but in the end they’re still there for them.
Tupac’s poem seems to be straightforward although in its nooks and crannies, there should be some deep thinking behind the real meaning of the poem. He doesn’t hold anything back and exposes the truth to readers. Whether there’s music or not and if the topic is women or life. Tupac will get things off his chest and still be artistic and intelligent about it.
poem by Robert Villanueva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On the Edge With Lost Meaning
Arming themselves,
With guns and fear.
Snap, crackle pop.
Dropped minds,
Nonstopping.
Inciting, backbiting threats appear.
On landscapes groomed...
With more of this looming.
And...
These are the people who pray under steeples,
With hate!
In their eyes.
These are the people who say they live lives,
That are straight.
But gutterized in hiding.
And...
These are the people with morals that others debate.
To criticize.
But gone denied.
On the edge with lost meaning,
They choose to demean.
Those who speak truth and appear on the scene.
Confused hypocrites sitting on the ledge.
Threatening to jump if their needs are not fed.
And...
These are the people who say they live lives,
That are straight.
On the edge with lost meaning.
And...
These are the people with morals that others debate.
On the edge with lost meaning.
And...
These are the people who pray under steeples,
With hate!
On the edge with lost meaning.
And...
These are the people without visions forward to make.
And have chosen to not pray with faith!
Oh oooh...
And,
These are the people who say they live lives,
That are straight.
But gutterized in hiding.
And...
These are the people with morals that others debate.
To criticize.
But gone denied.
Arming themselves,
With guns and fear.
Snap, crackle pop.
Dropped minds,
Nonstopping.
And these are the people who've chosen themselves,
To eliminate.
On the edge with lost meaning...
With no brakes applied to their fates!
Oh oooh..
NO?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!