Yulo....
he passes by the house
though there is a doorbell he calls my name
(in fact, he is shouting that there is a man
with a covered face overtaking him and
takes refuge in the flowering bushes beside the fence)
i compromise and pretend that i agree with him
he is drunk, his wife left him, his children too
and lives in the old house
all alone,
and so where is the man? he says it is a shadow
a robust one, and it is running too fast past him
he is tipsy, his curly hair is glistening with oil
i mean it is unwashed for days
he is with a gay friend, a transvestite and
more beautiful than his wife
there is no man, there is no shadow,
i know, that he is lost, there is nothing to fear
but he has all these fears
of insufficiency, the incapacity to know what the real problem
is.
My house is fenced. I cannot invite one like him and have a drink.
I give him a bottle of whiskey, and tells his transvestite friend to take him
to the old house,
now at least, he is not alone anymore
someone is warm, someone loves him now, perhaps
higher than his dog, that waggles its tail
as soon as the front door is opened.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Their Fences And Yours
it is a rainy day and you look for
that nearest
available shade, this time, your neighbor's house
it is fenced and about five steps away
their closed door
some bushes hide what supposedly should have been
an open space
like a warm embrace of the arms
the door bell does not sound and you have no other choice
you change your mind and walk away back to your house
it too is fenced, like what they do.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Indifferent Woman
after you build a higher iron grilled fence
round your house
letting the bushes rise
grass untrimmed and letting all the dust
accumulate in your old inherited furniture
after you bought more locks
the house door
and windows all shut
your phone line cut
added another dog to frighten away
possible guests
i said to myself, i don't care anymore
since you don't care anymore too
in anyway in anything
at any time
i guess you'll know the consequences of your acts
when you die you must learn to bury your own corpse.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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House Of Jazz
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin' and a fightin' on a TV show
Lightin' blindin' in the middle of the road
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap 'n' tickler
To make you growl
Spitin' and bitin' on a TV show
Tightenin' frightenin' givin' out a load
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Come on in
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz
song performed by by AC/DC from Stiff Upper Lip
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The house she refers to
She first told me of this house when I was a child
She wrote it in her documents and filed
A house so wild
Where the people are very cold
A house like a wrestling hold
Everyone scrambling for gold
There are murmurs and calls for hate
Which spreads amongst the offspring they procreate
To go and lie in wait
Until they receive orders to fire
At anyone who aims higher
So that they get what they require
She documents a house of takers
Wanting to acquire acres
Which they are not the makers
She documents a house of doom
Where deception is a costume
And aversion is spread from a control room
She documents a house of pain
Where there is nothing to gain
And says to me again and again
Beware and tread with care
For there are fumes of hate in the air
This she makes me aware
She tells me of this house each day
So I would not be lead astray
What then can I say
Before the bee stings
I would pray for certain things
One is for God to carry me on a pair of wings
To fly me on a fast pace
To a new place
Where He would put a smile on my face
A place of joy and peace
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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House Of Jazz
(young - young)
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin and a fightin on a tv show
Lightin blindin in the middle of the road
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz, yes
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap n tickler
To make you growl
A spitin and bitin on a tv show
Tightenin frightenin givin out a load
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin in
Come on in
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz
2000, j. albert & son, pty.
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nasty Life
My friend
Married newely...
Fight to fight
Every his wife...
Wife did not
Interest in sex...?
Sex is not
Impreess wife
With husband...
So...
Fights going...
One day crying...
One day lough...
One day sad...
Life move boor
With boor...
My friend wife
Run for mohter's house...
My friend woory...
Pray for god...
Temple to temple...
The family problem is
Not sable...
Months are going...
Years are going...
My friend wife did
Not come...
Move the life...
Husband one side...
Wife one side...
It is life...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Numbers
Its stranger how some numbers
keep recurring in our lives.
At first, we do not notice it
until one day we think of them.
Our date of birth, houses numbers we have lived in,
our children’s birth date
and our brother or sister’s date of birth.
When you look at them
and one number seems to readily appear,
you begin to wonder if that number
has some bearing on our lives.
The number linked to my life is number 8.
I was born on the 18th,
in Canada the house I grew up in was 28
and my sister was born on the 18th.
Moving to England our house number was 62.
When my wife and I got married,
our first house was 24,
our second house was 18
and our present house number is 107.
My wife’s birth date is the 8th;
my son was born on the 17-8-71.
Everywhere I look the number 8 just keeps popping up.
Coincidence I guess you could call it,
or is there something else a foot.
I will just let you the reader to decide.
3 September 2009
Author’s note.
The evening I wrote this, my wife went out, was talking to someone, and mentioned how the number 8 always appeared in our lives.
Coincidence?
poem by David Harris
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Complicated Lifestyle.
a man's life is simple.
he has a routine, like this: house, office, house.
he gets bored, adds another place,
like house, office, park, mall, house,
waste of money, but a little interesting, he adds more
a friend's house, another house where he can be intimate with someone,
then sex, and games and romance and betrayal and use and sue and
lots of booze,
he retreats back to house, office, house,
but it is not the same again.
he sins, feels so broke, and
to a certain extent
attempts at suicide.
sad, but it can happen to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tell Me Why?
you have what you call
a success,
you have a beautiful wife
who fathered
you six healthy children
you have a fortune to waste
a big house to settle
and a circle of friends to
enclose you
you have all that i could
possibly envy
you have it all
what a lucky guy
are you?
it is strange
you come home drunk
you want to burn the house
and you do not want to play
with the kids
and you break the law
and you wish
that you were dead...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Story
the fence keeps a happy disposition.
it does not need it. The house does.
despite its disagreement with the door,
somehow, i gives a square disposition,
as though, everything here is tolerable,
the house is keeping so many secrets
shying away from the scrutiny of visitors
but it trusts the fence and can sleep
soundly at night, except the light bulb
which is fixed at the back of the kitchen
it keeps on blinking, wanting to tell it all,
but the master switch of the basement is quick
everything is shut off, and then the silence
reigns, it is the queen, it grieves
without a word, it takes in what the house
cannot take anymore, and the fence as the
facade, maintains its happy disposition,
deceiving all that merely pass by.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Astonishing Forest
Where the house filled with living
The house continuously giving
Where the house filled with nature
The house filled with adventure
Anything can survive
With the nature it provides
Where the house filled with grass
The house filled with hedges, bushes and plants
Canopy trees be it rain or shine
Will be there for you at any time
Where the green house filled with fresh air
Will shelter you in the heavy rain
O the house of beauty
O the house of sound
So much variety is yet to be found
poem by Sehar Zaman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Big Problem....
There is this BIG PROBLEM
WE decided not to talk about it
We think that that problem must solve itself
Auto-resolution
So day and night the problem stays there
Like a drunkard in the room
Vomiting
To every nook of the house
The house
That smells like fucking
Shit
But that problem is never considered a problem
There is a room for it to stay
And it can stay
It cannot consume us
It has no mouth and so it has no teeth
It has no tongue it cannot say a word
It stays there like a piece of art
And we begin to appreciate it
Like a piece of rock
Unchanged in the middle of the living room
We eat lunch there
They prepare nice dinners
We drink red wine
We munch chocolates
And sweet berries
The problem stays but it cannot nag us
Because we can pretend
That it is a brother
That we cannot junk but only love
And keep as part of the
Company
There is still this problem
And it did not solve itself
We live by this problem and this problem lives with us
Symbiosis
And so now
What is the problem? Is this a problem after all these years?
It is not anymore
We have learned that it is not a problem anymore
We die soon
And it shall perhaps disappear
Shall it weep over our departure?
That is its problem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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House Of 1000 Corpses
She got a corpse
Under her bed
He had her fun
But now hes dead
Hear momma said
Come feed desire
Her brother said
Hey, throw her on the fire
This is the house
Come on in
This is the house
Built on sin
This is the house
Nobody lives
This is the house
You get what you give
I cut the flesh
And make it bleed
Fresh skin
Is what I need
I let it dry
Out in the wood
All your crying
Did no good, yeah
Now youre lying
On the floor
Yeah, you cant
Take anymore
The devils laughing
In your face
Give me another taste, yeah
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The drug party
Four drugged kids were naked in the room
and had removed
every piece of clothing from their bodies.
Sweet sour with a smell
that is almost like khaki-weed,
their marijuana zol’s smell went right through the house.
When I stood at the front door
every thing in the house was ungodly and deadly silent,
as if I walked into a place were the spirit of man can die.
I opened the room door slowly
and there was no innocence to be seen
and only children that were naked on their knees
almost praying,
around that bottle point zol sitting staring
and the stench was more repulsive
than that of vomit or liquor.
Pain went right through my soul
to see children
throwing their lives away like this
and past all reason and other desires,
see them chase the drug god
and to see them lying there
somewhat dead to life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Monument Of All Our Wrongs
i build a house
no one likes it.
the house is empty
i put some chairs.
someone comes and
says, this house is
lonely, it needs
a sound
it is boring and needs
a paint
i put a tree beside
its stairs
i grow another
fence
i put a lone bulb
on a post
and leave the house
for good
that is what the
house is made
there is always
missing
something is
always wrong
this is the house
of regret
it is the monument
of all our wrongs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In this house of pain
In this house of pain
We’re nothing but slaves
Giving into such desires
Will it bring us any pleasure?
Weeping for a lover lost
She’ll cast her own spell
Deprived by all
Depleting the life of everyone that has betrayed her
Hidden in the shadows is where she will feel alive
In this house
Is nothing but sinners?
In this house
Is nothing but broken promises?
In this house
Is where you left me for dead?
Walking through the fogged trees
Blind to all
The songs of old
Are here for the comfort of all.
Beneath the garden of secrets
Hides a lonely heart
Calling to her lover
From which she had to part.
I am alone again.
Alone with my thoughts
That I am left to ponder upon
I am alone again.
This sadness is overwhelming
And all I can do is give in
Does my heart still beat the same?
Or does it die along with you
These thoughts seem to keep me sane
Yet I’m still waiting for more
These memories seem to play a game
And in the end
I’m here to give in
In this house
Is nothing but heartache?
In this house
Is nothing but tears?
In this house
Is where you left me broken?
The feelings seem to fade
The laughter was lost long ago
But I would give everything up
Just to have it all back
In this house
Was when I first fell in love with you?
In this house is were I gave my heart to you
In this house was where i was lost to you.
This will be our doing
This will be our destruction
Swept up in such blissful dreams
Scarcely unaware
This is the house
Were we will rot forever?
poem by Teigan Klippel
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Dog Running
In thunderstorm, and a grey dog
A dog always tied, and in chain
But in thunderstorm, roaring
The dog is running, struck by fear
Enters the room, and under the bed
Pushes himself, places his head on his claws
The grey skin and fur of the dog
Keeper of the house, and near the door
A shepherd hound, loyal to the house
Men and women, children and animals
The dogs tail, cut but still long
And ears straight, eyes dark
I remember the dog, a friend old
When I was a child, and the village simple
My verse is simple, as simple as dog
I wish I had a dog like him, a friend of worth
The many things I mourn and the day’s happenings
But today, my dog I mourn you and remember you
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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She loves her hair stretched
accustomed to curly hair
when we were yet children
living in the same house
I feel uneasy why she
wears stretched hair
And she takes pride
about her new found fashion
And taste for something straight.
Curly hairs and split ends
Never gave her luck
She got an ugly husband
Who does not understand her
Rich maybe, but slaps her
It is time she gains confidence
In herself to a newer face
A stretched hair, straight
And candid and ready to
Fight now, win or lose,
At whatever costs she must
Deny her old self, the one
With the curly hair, she is
Ready for the consequences.
Her right as a new woman
With stretched hair is now
Or never, she has no time left
Anymore for hiding and cowardice and tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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HOE HOUSE...by talile ali
HOE HOUSE
IF YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS
WHEN DOIN IT RUNS AMUCK
HOE HOUSE
THE MOMMA LIKES TO DO IT
SO DO HER LITTLE DUCKS
HOE HOUSE
SHE DOESN'T WANT THEM DOIN
SOME LAZY KNOTHEAD CHUMPS
HOE HOUSE
THEN SHE GETS ALL DRUNKED UP
AND DOES SOME LAZY BLIND KNOTHEAD CHUMP
HOE HOUSE
THE CHILDREN THEY CAN HEAR HER
WHEN SHE STARTS TO WAIL
HOE HOUSE
DOING ANY FELLA
BEFORE SHE GOES TO HELL
HOE HOUSE
SHE WILL DO'EM NASTY
IN THE RAW OR IN THE MOUTH
HOE HOUSE
WHILE HER BABIES LISTEN
THEY DRESS AND LEAVE THE HOUSE
HOE HOUSE
SHE TELL'S THEM 'IT'S NOT NOTHING'
'JUST A LIL FIX'
HOE HOUSE
THEY COULD NEVER BELIEVE HER
SHE'S JUST UP TO HER TRICKS
HOE HOUSE
WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW IS
IF THEY GET FUCKED, I SWEAR
HOE HOUSE
THESE BABE'S THEY JUST CANT HELP YOU
CAUSE THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED
HOE HOUSE
YOU'RE THEIR GOD, THEIR TEACHER
THEIR EVER SHINING LIGHT
HOE HOUSE
THE SUCCUBUS IN SEX
THE BLIND, AND DICK, AND SCARY
HOE HOUSE
IS SHE SO SURPRISED
WHEN HER GIRL'S ARE DEAD AND BURIED
HOE HOUSE
WHATS GOOD FOR THE GOOSE
AINT SO GOOD WHEN THEY'RE DUCKLINGS
HOE HOUSE
DON'T BE SO SURPRISED
WHEN THE FRUIT IS REALLY RANCID
HOE HOUSE
WITH THE FELLA'S IN THEIR RAGE
FINISHED HER STOUT BEFORE THEY LANCE IT
HOE HOUSE
SHE'S SO PISSED
HER BABE'S JUST CAN'T HELP HER
HOE HOUSE
WITH A BUNCHA SAD JACKS
HANGIN ALL AROUND TO ENHANCE HER
HOE HOUSE
THEY CAN SMELL THE BREWERY
WAITING TO GET POUND
HOE HOUSE
CHILDREN CAN ONLY SEE
WHAT THEY LEARN AND WHAT THEY FOUND
HOE HOUSE
IF MOM IS DEEP INTO DOING IT
THE GIRLS WILL TRY AT LEAST
HOE HOUSE
YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE THEM
THE'RE STILL NEW TO THE FEAST
HOE HOUSE
I LIVED IN A HOE HOUSE
I DON'T HAVE A LOT
THERE'S NOT A SINGLE THING
I CAN SAY TO MAKE IT STOP
TO ALL THAT LOVE HOEING,
THE BLOWING, AND WHAT NOT
THE LUST FOR NOT GROWING
IS ALL THAT THEY'VE GOT
IT WAS MY BIGGEST FEAR
EVERY NIGHT, EVERY YEAR
CAUSE IN EVERY SINGLE ROOM
MY GIRLS ARE NOW DOING IT, IT'S CLEAR
WHAT CAN I SAY?
I DIDN'T WANT TO LOSE THEM THAT WAY!
SO IF YOU SEE THAT YOU
ARE LIVING LIKE ME
HOE HOUSE
GRAB UP ALL YOUR BABIES
AND LEAVE THIS INSANITY
HOE HOUSE
poem by Talile Ali
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