T2

the green tiles of the garage
reinvent this old house

it is more livable now
the hammock newly washed

the shoes newly brushed and
the table newly painted

this house has reinvented itself
into something more admirable

decent, confident, renewed,
this could be a start

as you must begin to recreate
what you once was too

do not be just yourself
go beyond what is admirable

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sacrilege

mercury, and bullets,
the dead dont lie!
the used bear the marks,
on their backs, in their eyes.

and the price of the present,
the childrens' lives.
we bury our dreams
with guns and knives.

the earth weeps for us,
as the sky falls down.
cant see beyond our mouths,
cant hear the sound...

and the tears of the fallen,
stand like puddles of rain.
you can wash your hands,
cant wash off the stain.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hangmans Knee

(hopkins, beck, newman, stewart, wood)
Hangman, hangman, slack your noose
Slack it, oh slack it
Slack it for a while
There aint no use in your hurrying me
Aint nothing gonna change things now
Now I aint trying to prove your judge is wrong
And your jury, oh your jury
I guess Ill know the way out
And if you kill me with my canvas shirt
Good god, you could put my lawyer in jail
Listen
Its just this twenty two minutes to prepare yourself
I havent been in this position before
Wash your hands, get your .? .
Find the waistcoat, lock the door.
And oh!
Get your .? .
Oh yeah, get your .? . lock the door
Come on

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song performed by Rod Stewart
Added by Lucian Velea
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If You Want To Become Obese, Catch A Cold (Fun Poem 37)

According to a news story, I read yesterday.
Every time to cough or sneeze,
you put on an extra pound or two.
According to the scientists, obesity can be party blamed
to the good old common cold.
Now if their figures are right
I should be weighing in at about ten tons by now,
as I rarely seem to be without a cold,
spring summer, winter or fall.
Mind you, it would help to explain
why people remark that my wife
seems a lot shorter than I do.
She is standing in my footprints,
which make potholes wherever I go.
However, it gets better than that;
they say the virus is transmitted through our dirty hands.
I am assuming they want us to wash
our hands every five minutes of the day.
In that case, we should carry a bowl of water
around our necks, with a bar of soap and some disposable towels.

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poem by David Harris
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I Highly Recommend You Find Another Job

You want the oven turned on,
But you don't want to go into the kitchen?
And you expect the pots and pans to be spotless,
Because you are a new arrival.
With a jumping into this heat...
With a full set of teeth seen grinning from ear to ear.

And you wish the others to greet you,
Living in the home as if you are a queen...
And 'not' the MAID they will believe they own?
I highly recommend you find another job!
Because this one you 'claim' to qualify for,
Is not going to be what you've been led to believe.
Because of positions you have had before.

You will not believe how unique this one will be.
The people living in this home,
Think of it as a mansion.
And not only expect you to be the chef...
They expect you to clean up after them,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Massachusetts To Virginia

The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,
Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:
No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal,
Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel,

No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go;
Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the snow;
And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands far,
A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war.

We hear thy threats, Virginia! thy stormy words and high
Swell harshly on the Southern winds which melt along our sky;
Yet not one brown, hard hand foregoes its honest labor here,
No hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe in fear.

Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's bank;
Cold on the shores of Labrador the fog lies white and dank;
Through storm, and wave, and blinding mist, stout are the hearts which man
The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann.

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Lonely Silver Rain

Watching waves wash up the beach and washing out again
The water shining scarlet as another day begins
Gazing past the droplets falling on my window pane
On the tan and sandy silence of the lonely silver rain

My house and mind are wallowing in states of disarray
Nothing is for certain except you’ve gone away
Wash my hands obsessively but can’t remove the stain
In the tan and sandy silence of the lonely silver rain

Morning fog is crawling like a curse upon the water
Want to scream into the sky but can’t begin to bother
Old friends, like the darkness, never ask me to explain
To the tan and sandy silence of the lonely silver rain

poem by A.D. Varrone
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Hands of Life

I wash my hands
in the days
And the years slip
between my fingers
Leaving them clean
except for bits of weeks
Under my nails that
are hard to get out,
hard to forget

Life has left them
hard and cracked
Scared and scaled
mangled and crushed

And so are my hands

poem by Midnights Voice
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Scavenging For Coal

At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces

that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home

Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees

these fingers
and finds out
what I've been doing
he'll spank me

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poem by Terry Collett
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I listen like mad to any conversation taking place next to me just trying to hear why this is funny. Women's restrooms are especially great. I wash my hands twice waiting for people to come in and start talking.

quote by Lynda Barry
Added by Lucian Velea
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True Passion

people of color, sisters and brothers,
wash your hands cant lose the stain.
dont understand, another land,
their heart beats just the same!

we cannot live, 'less we forgive,
see our dreams in each others eyes.
let go of greed, fill the need,
let your prejudices die!

my religion is compassion.
swords to plowshares slowly fashioned.
we can be what we imagine...
unconditional, true passion!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Last night my soul cried O exalted sphere of Heaven

Last night my soul cried, “O exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly.
“Without sin and crime, eternally revolving upon your body in its complaining is the indigo of mourning;
“Now happy, now unhappy, like Abraham in the fire; at once king and beggar like Ebrahim-e Adham.
“In your form you are terrifying, yet your state is full of anguish: you turn round like a millstone and writhe like a snake.”
Heaven the blessed replied, “How should I not fear that one who makes the Paradise of the world as Hell?
“In his hand earth is as wax, he makes it Zangi and Rumi , he makes it falcon and owl, he makes it sugar and poison.
“He is hidden, friend, and has set us forth thus patent so that he may become concealed.
“How should the ocean of the world be concealed under straws? The straws have been set adancing, the waves tumbling up and down’
“Your body is like the land floating on the waters of the soul; your soul is veiled in the body alike in wedding feast or sorrow.
“In the veil you are a new bride, hot-tempered and obstinate; he is railing sweetly at the good and the bad of the world.
“Through him the earth is a green meadow, the heavens are unresting; on every side through him a fortunate one pardoned and preserved.
“Reason a seeker of certainty through him, patience a seeker of help through him, love seeing the unseen through him, earth taking the form of Adam through him.
“Air seeking and searching, water hand-washing, we Messiah-like speaking, earth Mary-like silent.
“Behold the sea with its billows circling round the earthy ship; behold Kaabas and Meccas at the bottom of this well of Zamzam!”
The king says, “Be silent, do not cast yourself into the well, for you do not know how to make a bucket and a rope out of my withered stumps.

poem by Rumi
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XXXIV: Sin

of course, there are some man who deserved to die
if you want to kill, kill by yourself
hold your knife and stab
but don't use somebody else's hands
and wash your hands clean from responsibility
human will pay for their sins, maybe in horrible way
so what's the payoff for you to make someone's life gone like an animal?
you say it's the fault of the one who makes you commit a sin
commit a sin but don't want to take the consequences
only for such reason
should human treated cruel like that?

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Liturgy....

liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!

the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Until

fallow ground...
lips tremor, speaking nothing
in the language of false gods.

there can be no healing
until you see the disease,
smell the rotting flesh....

until the souls of the invisible
gather around you, and
you take your self back in.

until the words you speak
are built on action wrapped
in the forms of compassion....

until you ask forgiveness
of the mountains, the rivers,
and the sky.... until...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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AN ELEGY Upon the most Incomparable K. Charles the First

Call for amazed thoughts, a wounded sense
And bleeding Hearts at our Intelligence.
Call for that Trump of Death the Mandrakes Groan
Which kills the Hearers: This befits alone
Our Story which through times vast Kalendar
Must stand without Example or Repair.
What spowts of melting Clowds what endless springs
Powr'd in the Oceans lapp for offerings
Shall feed the hungry torrent of our grief
Too mighty for expression or belief?
Though all those moistures which the brain attracts
Ran from our eyes like gushing Cataracts,
Or our sad accents could out-tongue the Cryes
Which did from mournful Hadadrimmon rise
Since that remembrance of Josiah slain
In our King's murther is reviv'd again.
O pardon me that but from Holy Writ
Our losse allowes no Parallel to it:
Nor call it bold presumption that I dare
Charles with the best of Judah's Kings compare:

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poem by Henry King
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Alone Again In The Lap Of Luxury

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
See those people there?
They look after me
This is a photograph of who I might be
Man in a uniform ... bride on his arm
Mum always was a fool for money and charm
Hes been talkin in his sleep again
Sayin hes sorry, callin my name
Sayin how hes ashamed ...
Alone again in the lap of luxury
Since it happened I had nothin to say
It used to bother them but now its ok
Mother cleans his dreadful house every day
Scrubbing all the stains that wont go away
They sent me away to the school in the park
They said it would be good for me
I still hear the other kids cry in the dark
Alone again in the lap of luxury
Is there no escape
I dont remember the last time I cried

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song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mastering The Self, Though Uglier At First, And Clumsier...

sometimes you look for a pattern
you walk at the road leading to some other paths
along the way are the yellow flowers
wild with the rain last night
and giving the best
their bests this morning
when you still have to wash your hands
and clean your shoes
and comb your hair
in such a parting mode
between your
chin
a canal of
indifference

there are so many patterns to see
how does this rays of light come like daggers? are they like knives
or simply flowing waters in a pattern of subsumed invincibility?

distrust of self makes one find patterns

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You're Good To Mama

(Voiceover)
And now, Ladies and Gentlemen,
The keeper of the keys,
The countess of the clink
the mistress of murderers row,
Matron Mama Morton!
(Queen Latifah)
Ask any of the chickies in my pen
they'll tell you I'm the biggest mother hen.
I love them all and all of them love me
because the system works,
the system called reciprocity.
Got a little motto,
Always sees me through:
"When you're good to Mama, Mama's good to you."
Theres a lot of favours I'm prepared to do,
You do one for Mama, she'll do one for you.
They say that life is tit for tat,
and that's the way I live.
So I deserve a lot of tat

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song performed by Queen Latifah
Added by Lucian Velea
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Photo From Lost Days At Stillborn Falls

You see them all morning while driving,
broken cars, omens, those towns you drive
through graveyards now. Your one good
tooth a headache, windshield wipers break in
the storm. Road side glass cuts your feet.
You curse your shoes in the back seat,
fumble with blades in the rain.

One good town out of six and that's the one
you leave behind where your shorts hang content
at home on the line, back yard neighbors
speculating over lingerie with black lace.
The sun can barely contain itself.
The mail man wishes he was me.

The story is Jalise - I was nearby - she dripped in
soaked from rain announcing, 'I need to get
out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini.'
For me? only a towel to dry her and nothing more.

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poem by Warren Falcon
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