En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Worry

the polo shirt
no longer fits
the pair of pants
needs to
be repaired
everyday the line
of the
weighing scale
moves further
right

quality life
perhaps

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unholy Hour

my pants are under the chair
my brief on the john
my polo shirt on the cabinet
my watch below the bed
my shoes scatter on the floor
my socks no longer pair
we're here united
at the most unholy hour
of the day
with all regrets
for nudity

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I was fourteen and first started going out, I always wanted to be the opposite of everyone else. So I would go to the club in a polo T-shirt and pants and sneakers and a hat on backward, just so I would not be dressed like other girls.

quote by Rihanna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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and her comes Cris

untying his tie
disrobing his red polo shirt
without his pants on
except his
stylish G string
looking like a native
from the uncivilized
mountain
the cameraman directs
his gaze
and to project his
bankable image
he was told
never to smile.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem About The Rotten Self

it is
a law that every
human being
accepts
as is: it is always the soft side that is hidden

sort of
Achilles's heel since we do not want to be
destroyed in an instant

it is the hard side that is always shown
a carapace
an armor of the body
a steel polo shirt
a pair of pants made of platinum

a bronze heart
a brain full of lead
tin hands
iron feet

the soft side is left like a fruit that you have forgotten
inside the
cabinet because of your selfishness
that inability to accept that all things are meant to be given
away

one day
you will find all the pulp consumed by the ants

have hope get the remaining seed with dried fiber like hair
on all over its body

take it and sow it
today.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The quality of mercy (conditions apply)

The quality of mercy,
Portia declared,

the quality of mercy is
suspended during the present conflict

the quality of mercy is
not the business of a Minister of Justice

the quality of mercy is
not a matter of individual conscience

the quality of mercy is
too subtle for public discussion
or law

the quality of mercy is
only for Shakespeare and stuff

the quality of mercy is
less stimulating than revenge

the quality of mercy is
no business of yours

the quality of mercy is
no concern of religious authorities
who should stay silent

the quality of mercy is
an outdated concept

the quality of mercy is
nothing to do with forgiveness
or circumstantial evidence
or the remission of sins

the quality of mercy is
no longer a matter of pride

the quality of mercy is
no longer a mark of humanity

the quality of mercy
would be OK if Obama said so

the quality of mercy
is one hell of a hot potato
cooked in oil

the quality of mercy
droppeth as the gentle
dew from heaven
upon a broken fuselage

and it is too much
or too little
for our understanding.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Everyday Is A Special Occasion

with you
everyday is a special occasion
a celebration
so i wear my best polo shirt
and you serve me
the best breakfast in town
we hide nothing precious
you serve all the special things
for us
so when we die
no one laughs at us
for keeping things with
all dusts

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Isn't Everyday One Makes An Order, And Throws Out The Past

It isn’t everyday one makes an order, throws out the past
Goes through the piles of old papers
And sees here a missed opportunity there another time of life
Which one has long forgotten
Throwing most of the business papers away
And holding on to most personal things
One finds letters one did not answer
And dreams one did not begin to realize
Pictures are most painful
People no longer here
Loved ones in youth
Oneself as one was and will never be again
A life in these things
And almost gone
Cancelled bank books
Money one had once and no longer has
Love and people who were once one’s whole life
And are now strangers
The children
In so many different ages and times
The children no longer children
The past too too much past
Weighing me down with grief and despair
Asking myself how I can go on and for how much longer
Before someone else has to deal with the mess

poem by Shalom Freedman
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It Don't Move Me

written by Marv Ross (words) / Marv Ross, Jack Charles & Rindy Ross (music)
The kids are hungry
And they line up and down the street
Just to catch a glimpse
Of the miracle of the week
But I knew there was something wrong
When the king had nothing on
You say that it feels right
You say that it fits tight
You say that it moves light
But it don't move me
You say that it's in time
You say that it feels fine
You say that it moves
But it don't move me-
Excuse me baby,
But I just can't catch the thrill
Of watching some joker
On the big screen make the kill
I'm sorry if it breaks your heart
But it don't tear me apart
You say that it feels right
You say that it fits tight
You say that it moves light
But it don't move me
You say that it's in time
You say that it feels fine
You say that it moves
But it don't move me-
Everybody needs a new thrill a day
And you know somebody's gonna sell it
But when the screams die down
And the dreams leave town
You're alone - you're all alone

song performed by by Quarterflash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Day at the Office (Minimum Wage)

I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Demands Of Our Poetry....

it looks like a race of letters
there is this old typewriter writing everyday
till nighttime till dawn
and the numbers have become so many
looking tired and
clumsy

it so appears that the words do not experience any meaning at all
what is it to be a word in this
sentence? what is the meaning of such a literal existence?
is there a feeling between two conjunctions?
are the prepositions making the necessary links?
what clinching statement are you trying to
impress upon this
twink? there are no more stars in the heavens,
the moon has faded like a blue jean pair of pants,
the sun looks like a yellow button
and the universe has reduced itself into a plain white shirt
worn by an irresponsible teeter.

where are these evens leading us to? a devastated part of this island
speaks of the logical suicide,
ah, damned, the pigeons are not homing
and the chickens no longer roost on the same branch of the tree

indeed, the word do not entice anymore to live a good life
the whole novel is not new, it is melodramatic still
detached from that tsunami reality, pure soap, pure tearjecker

i wish to a truthful concern
one that touches not just the heart but the hair
one that surrenders and not just win
one that cares and cares and cares and cares
till the end......

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Competition

as i wake up
i prepare for another round of
competition
about the day's strategies
the hour's demands
the dictates of the last seconds

i rub my eyes
wake up
carry my body
dragging it like
a heavy metal

i wash my face
check my attache case
taking in
all the papers

i see myself in the
mirror
dressed for the day
an attire
not fit for any embarrassment
polished shoes
oiled hair
well ironed pants
infallible polo shirt

i step out of the door
get inside my car
and now i am ready
to compete against
the previous self
that i had.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Honesto In Going to the City

as you pack
your jute sack
containing your
personal belongings:
a pair of pants
an old dirty white shirt
a pair of rubber slippers
a hat
(leave your bolo
you can't use it there)
do not promise me
that you will not
be coming back
to this poor little
town which has not
given you the
opportunity for
a higher wage
as a houseboy

ah, Honesto the city
if you only know
has no pity
it had long forgotten
feelings
and those who
cannot adapt to
its cruelty
may simply die
beside the sidewalk
of its cold streets
and when the flood
comes to clean
its waste
you may be lucky
carried for free
by the big water
to be finally eaten
by the wild fishes
in the murky river

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Did Ye Get Healed?

(van morrison)
And now for the man, van morrison
(instrumental intro)
I wanna know did you get the feelin?
Hey, hey
Did you get it down in your soul?
Hey, hey
I wanna know baby, did you get the feelin?
Hey, hey
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Did the feelin grow?
(hey, hey)
And sometimes a wondrous word moves you
(hey, hey)
And it fill ya, fill ya, fill ya, fill ya, through and through
(hey hey)
Every mornin bout the break-a-day
(hey, hey)
I wanna know, I wanna know, I wanna know
Did ya get healed?
(hey, hey)
I begin to realise the magic in my life
It manifests in oh so many ways
(so many ways Im whole)
Well n everyday, everyday gettin better and better
I wanna be just a little bit closer, to you
Get stronger when ya get the feelin
(hey, hey)
When ya get it down in your soul
Hey, hey
And it make ya feel, make ya feel, so good
(hey, hey)
Yeah, and it make you feel whole
(hey, hey)
(instrumental)
I began to realise the magic in my life
It manifests in oh so many ways
(so many ways Im whole)
Make it everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday
Gettin better and better
I wanna be just a-walkin close to you
It, it gets stronger, when ya get the feelin, ay
(hey, hey)
When ya, when ya, get it down in your soul
(hey, hey)
I know ya can feel, it feels, so good
Hey, hey
I wanna know, dont it make ya feel whole?
(hey, hey)
And when the spirit, when the spirit, when the spirit
Moves, it moves
(hey, hey)
And itll fill ya through and through
Every mornin bout the break-a-day
Say (everyday in every way)
Its gettin better n better
(its gettin better n better)
(instumental)
(everyday, in every way)
(its gettin better n better)
(its gettin better n better)
(everyday, in every way)
(its gettin better n better)
(its gettin better n better)
Fades
(everyday, in every way)
(its gettin better n better)

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Bury Our Burdens

we carry a sack
full of everything
the trivial and not so trivial
to the others
which we sometimes
deem to be
important

we start cramping things
in a small pack
a pair of shoes, a plaque,
a bat, white polo shirt,
underwear, the certificates,
some poems even
a book about
romance with some
molds on the hard cover

where shall i bury all these things?
for i am moving to
another place
this morning

i wait for the high tide
or which comes first
the dusty early morning
on the road
this cranky motor vehicle
bound for the
dry mountain
where a hole is ready
tagging a shovel

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If I Were

if i were a pair of gloves
i know you want to become a pair of hands

if i were a pair of shoes
i know you want to be a set of bare feet.

that indeed is romantic
something that fits like a dado to a joint
like thread to the eye of the needle

even though
nothing is challenging enough
like a round peg to a round hole

but baby these fittings are more of fantasies
there are more truths and realities
those that don't fit
and yet still exist together

like us.
i love you and you love me too.
against all odds.
and evens.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Battle For Britain

My my, but time do fly
When its in another pair of hands
And a loser I will be
For Ive never been a winner
In my life
I used the sucker pills
And pity for the self
Though its the animal in me
But Id rather be a beggar man
On the shelf
Dont be so forlorn
Its just the payoff
Its the rain before the storm
On a better day
Ill take you by the hand
And lead you thru the doors
Dont you let my letter
Get you down
My my, but time do fly
When its in another pair of pants
And illusion I will be
For Ive never been a sinner
La-de-dah

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inner Life

Life hangs on life inner,
It corroded the life we have told,
Just death brings all time a shove,
Then shovels and buckets are of colours,
The life has gained me a prize of streams of life.
It was geometric progression on a massive scale,
It was beautiful breaking an oath now.
Life has bent its head on the body of joy,
An exact opposite of the heavenly bodies in space,
In space you read a sign.
In space you have life, life is away,
Like the living ones who discuss their nightmares.
Of this life then the living know meaningful dreams,
Dreams of life have sung joyously like a statue and sculptor.
Life has inner quality,
And we agree to the quality that brings joy.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A dull sound, varying now and again

And then we began eating corn starch,
chalk chewed wet into sirup. We pilfered
Argo boxes stored away to stiffen
my white dress shirt, and my cousin
and I played or watched TV, no longer annoyed
by the din of never cooling afternoons.

On the way home from church one fifth Sunday,
shirt outside my pants, my tie clipped on
its wrinkling collar, I found a new small can of snuff,
packed a chunk inside my cheek, and tripped
from the musky sting making my head ache,
giving me shivers knowing my aunt hid cigarettes

in the drawer under her slips,
that drawer the middle one on the left.

poem by Forrest Hamer
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At The Scale Of Life I Wait For You

Despair sinking
Hope rising
continue balancing
which breath
will
bring
most
charge
from
this
mornings'
greeting
these words of mine (or notes)
weighing the loads of life
How is your day going?
paving traces
of my tracks
for
I
am
now
waiting (playing)
at
the
Scale of life
lifting
the weights of our lots
Despair versus hopes and vise versa
You decide this moment
tip the scale
One way or the other
Depending
On your leaning
your burden this second
May I lend a hand?
Remove one more ounce
To my preference from the side of despair?
Pulling us with lift instead
I see a ray of light
In your eyes
may I go ahead?
unburden your load
This endorphin rush of hope
Does wonder to our universe
Ignites the suns of our souls

poem by leaking Pen
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Its Okay

[female talking spanish]
I like that...
You tellin me you wanna come over
But girl Id told ya
I dont know if I could control myself
Id love to just kiss and hold ya
Movies, popcorn, and soda
But imagine us all by ourselves
Wed be kissin, skin to skin, wearin nothin (nothin)
Who knows where we end (help)
But you can stay
If you really want...
Its okay...
[chorus]
Its okay
Its alright
You can spend the night
If you promise that youll hold me
Tight
And I would like
For you to love me
Love me
Baby, its okay
Its alright
You can spend the night
If you promise that youll hold me
Tight
And I would like
For you to love me
Love me
(I) lately Ive been thinkin to myself
If I ever had you alone
What Id do to you
What youd do to me
Everything in between
But wait...
I dont wanna hurry you
Dont get it twisted though, babygirl
Cause I aint scared of you
Therell be kissin (kissin), skin to skin (skin to skin), wearin nothin (nothin)
Who knows where we end (help)
But you can stay
If you really want...
Its okay...
[chorus]
Cause...
Baby I wanna make love (make love)
But I dont wanna rush (rush you)
You mean everything to me though
To make you...happy...is what
What I want to do
I dreamed of this for so long
And if its what you want
Cmon now...
Kissin (kissin), skin to skin, well be wearin nothin
Who knows where we end
But you can stay
If you really want...
Its okay...
[chorus]
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
First comes off the shirt
Then
Then comes off that pants
Then
Then comes off the bra
Then
[female talking spanish]

song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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