Commitment

on your left hand
you have five fingers
one of which is the ring finger
where, of course, you have your ring

now cut the other four
see your hand bleeds

leave the ring finger alone
to manage the work of your hands

that is commitment
cutting off the rest from the one you have chosen

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Art Of Giving....

AS stressed
the right hand must give
without the left
hand even knowing when and how
and what...

by said secrecy
giving has become a high form of art
the mouth is shut
the eyes are blind
and there seems to be a distrust
between the left
and the right

of course in the middle of these states
the heart will always be at the center
of our universe
always beating....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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North Dakota State. What do you have to do there to graduate? Milk a cow with your left hand?

quote by Bobby Heenan
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I'd take the syncopation and play swing, and then read the syncopation lines with my left hand.

quote by John Otto
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Wedding Bands

Wedding Bands

I placed a ring on her left hand
A plain white gold wedding band
With all my love this ring is from me
I also wore a ring for people to see

Today the rings have become something more
They also tie us together for evermore
Mine is still on my left hand
From my neck hangs her wedding band

I feel her in my heart and in my life
I still think of her as my wife

poem by Michael Gelb
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 10

It is a mistake to accept advice from an enemy but permissible to hear it; and to act contrary to it is perfectly correct.

Be cautious of what a foe tells thee to do
Lest thou strike thy knee with the hand of pain.
If he points thy way to the right like an arrow
Deflect therefrom and take that to the left hand.

poem by Sa di
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The Operation

You fight with your right hand
And caress with your left hand
Everyone I know is sick to death of you
With a tear thats a mile wide
In the kite that youre flying
Everyone I know is sick to death of you
Ever since
You dont look the same
Youre just not the same, no way
You say clever things and
You never used to
You dont catch what Im saying
When youre deafened to advice
Everyone here is sick to the
Back teeth of you
With a tear thats a mile wide
In the kite that youre flying
Everyone here is sick to the
Tattoo of you
Ever since

[...] Read more

song performed by Morrissey
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sex Ridden Figures Die Hard.

On the wooden wall of the wooden room
At Erumely, as far back as 1965,
I hung a monthly calendar for the picture
Of Vyjayantimala in sitting posture,
Her chin resting on her left hand,
A pose still fresh in my memory,
So fresh to draw it off hand, after four decades.
Sexual symbol is too strong to erase.

31.12.2002

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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For the Airmen

THOU who guidest the swallow and wren,
Keep the paths of the flying men!

Over the mountains, over the seas
Thou hast given the bird-folk compasses.

Thou guidest them, yea, Thou leadest them home
By the trackless ways and the venturesome.

Look Thou then on these bird-men, far
More than the sparrows and swallows are.

When they fly in the wintry weather
Be their compass and chart together.

Keep them riding the wind. Uphold
Their passion of flight lest it grow cold.

Thy right hand be under the wing,
Thy left hand for their steadying.

[...] Read more

poem by Katharine Tynan
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A Posting In The Street

this picture says it all:

we must learn
together to live as brothers
or
we shall perish together
as fools

framed in maroon colors
of hardwood
a black man in black suit
raises his right hand to
stress his point
his left hand rests on the railing
a shadow of a street sign
lands on this figure

as i see it
there are no men watching this picture anymore
left to the sun

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sea Holly

Begotten by the meeting of rock with rock,
The mating of rock and rock, rocks gnashing together;
Created so, and yet forgetful, walks
The seaward path, puts up her left hand, shades
Blue eyes, the eyes of rock, to see better
In slanting light the ancient sheep (which kneels
Biting the grass) the while her other hand,
Hooking the wicker handle, turns the basket
Of eggs. The sea is high to-day. The eggs
Are cheaper. The sea is blown from the southwest,
Confused, taking up sand and mud in waves,
The waves break, sluggish, in brown foam, the wind
Disperses (on the sheep and hawthorn) spray,—
And on her cheeks, the cheeks engendered of rock,
And eyes, the colour of rock. The left hand
Falls from the eyes, and undecided slides
Over the left breast on which muslin lightly
Rests, touching the nipple, and then down
The hollow side, virgin as rock, and bitterly
Caresses the blue hip.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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William Bond

I wonder whether the Girls are mad
And I wonder whether they mean to kill
And I wonder if William Bond will die
For assuredly he is very ill

He went to Church in a May morning
Attended by Fairies one two and three
But the Angels Of Providence drove them away
And he returnd home in Misery

He went not out to the Field nor Fold
He went not out to the Village nor Town
But he came home in a black black cloud
And took to his Bed and there lay down

And an Angel of Providence at his Feet
And an Angel of Providence at his Head
And in the midst a Black Black Cloud
And in the midst the Sick Man on his Bed

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On The Cackling Of A Hen

The hen, so soon as she an egg doth lay,
(Spreads the fame of her doing what she may.)
About the yard she cackling now doth go,
To tell what 'twas she at her nest did do.
Just thus it is with some professing men,
If they do ought that good is, like our hen
They can but cackle on't where e'er they go,
What their right hand doth their left hand must know.

poem by John Bunyan
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What I Project

what i project in all those years
is what you get and you swallow
me hook, line and sinker
and you get so nosy with all
your questions leading you
to all your self-framed answers.
what i am inside me
you must know is what i am
just between my body and my soul
my left hand does not even
know what my right hand is holding.
the shadows in that cave and
the real body that you may touch
bathing in the river
you must have known by now
are two different kinds of
illusions. What i have in my
hand is the real one: it is
alive and it is jumping
and flying and i am chasing

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love My Left Hand

Hold my right
Kiss my thoughts with all your might

Follow me down Left hand lane
flightless grief will relieve my posture

right is might left is position
We spank what the left is afraid of

And we love what is right.

poem by John Shea
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 5)

Mr D took off his glasses,
and raised his white cane.
He struck the dark figure,
hard with the crook of the handle
in the middle of the back.
The dark figure bends backwards
revealing his mask of death.
Quickly he recovered and twisted around.
He went to strike out at Mr D,
who hooked the white cane
around one leg and pulled.
The dark figure with the mask of death
fell upon the ground.
He pulled a blade from his pocket
that glinted under the moonlight.
Mr D used the cane again
to knock the blade from his hand
into the dark waters of the lake.

The sound of sirens and blue lights filled the air.

[...] Read more

poem by David Harris
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The Burning Question

We have a Vicar from the south
Who preaches with his mouth
His sermon for the Day
Was to make the people stay
The darkness was too much
But being a Vicar that was silly
He burnt his hand on the tilly

By Derek Lewry aka Papa Bear

25 May 2008

Note: This poem was written about an incident that happened to me on Sunday by the Mayor of the Western Town I belong to, Papa Bear (Derek Lewery) .

I was lighting a Tilly lamp to lighten up my church as we have no electricity. The lamp went out and when I tried to relight it, the lamp looked like it was going to topple over so I reached to steady it and burnt the palm of my left hand. Instead of seeing the light I felt the pain. I did the service with my hand wrapped in a cold wet towel.

Please leave a comment on passing as all your comments will be passed on to Papa Bear.
David

poem by David Harris
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A Royal Princess

I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest,
Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast,
For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west.

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before,
Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore;
Me, poor dove, that must not coo—eagle that must not soar.

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow
Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow
That are costly, out of season as the seasons go.

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace
Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place,
Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face.

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon,
Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne;
There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone.

[...] Read more

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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One Afternoon By The Cafe...

YOU get attuned to talking to yourself
while sitting on a bench
with coffee held by your left hand
your right hand simply doing nothing
you see the people passing by
like the hours in your
mind
like the hands of the watch
circling
busy, really busy
concentric and arriving at nothing
actually
it is the best that happens
in an afternoon
like this one

the manic days of March
meandering mind
reconnecting
readjusting....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rover Chronicle

The rover leaves his home
Leaving his father with right hand
Leaving his mother with left hand
Leaving his brother with right foot
Leaving his childhood with left foot

He moves forward and release the burden
Put the cushion from his back
Put the robe from his shoulder
Put the wine from his waist

The rover goes and sacrifices all
Sacrifice his fellowship
Sacrifice his lover
Sacrifice his soul

He still moves forward though lost everything
The Gods condemn him
All mothers wail over him

[...] Read more

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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