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Don't Get Infected

go away now.
You may get
infected with
my yawn.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nuclear Infected

I'm nuclear infected
I really don't mind
I just go out when the sun goes down
And have a real good time.
I can clear out any ballgame
In a minute and a half
Just show up - glow up
And have a real good laugh
When I'm happy I glow yellow
When I'm sad I glow blue
And I glow red hot when I'm in bed with you
I'm nuclear infected
Really ain't that bad
In fact it's about the best time
I guess I ever had
I'm nuclear infected
Looking for a mate
So slip on something lead, babe
And go out on a date
When I'm happy I glow yellow
When I'm sad I glow blue, yeah
And I glow red hot when I'm in bed with you
Nuclear infected....... don't make me angry
Nuclear infected....... don't make shake
Nuclear infected....... don't get me to sneeze
Nuclear infected....... that's a big mistake
I want to live on Three Mile Island
Where things are clean and neat
'Cause we don't have no health freaks
Clutterin' up our streets
I'm nuclear infected, I need something to eat
A China Syndrome Salad with plutonium and cheese.
When I'm happy I glow yellow
When I'm sad I glow blue
And I glow red hot when I'm in bed with you

song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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From Russia Infected

Seen the man?
New disease
Everybodys infected.
Seen the man?
Hell storm your heart
Everybody believes.
Seen the man?
Sly new game
Kiss another cute baby.
Seen the man?
No war machine
So everybody wants peace?
Everybodys infected
Everybody believes.
Ive been looking for something
But it just gets harder
I could look for ever
What am I going to do.
Storm the heart
Boy threw up
Everybodys disgusted.
Storm the heart
Girl went down
Everybody looked shocked.
Storm the heart
New young thing
Everybodys obsession.
Storm the heart
levi jeans
Think its cool to kill.
Everybodys infected
Everybody believes.
One more reason
One more lie.
Dreams are cruel
This is life
It replaced religion.
Change your mind
Make it mine
Everybody looks sad.
Dirty film
Ten years old
This is russia infected.
Party time
Time runs out
Everybody go home.
Everybodys infected
Everybody believes.

song performed by Gary Numan
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm so sick- Flyleaf (lyrics)

I will break into your thoughts
With what's written on my heart
I will break, break

I'm so sick, infected with
Where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss, selfishness
I'm so sick
I'm so sick

If you want more of this
We can push out, sell out, die out
So you'll shut up
And stay sleeping
With my screaming in your itching ears

I'm so sick, infected with
Where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss, selfishness
I'm so sick
I'm so sick

Hear it, I'm screaming it
You're heeding to it now
Hear it, I'm screaming it
You tremble at this sound

You sink into my clothes
This invasion makes me feel
Worthless, hopeless, sick

I'm so sick, infected with
Where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss, selfishness
I'm so, I'm so sick

I'm so sick, infected with
Where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss, selfishness
I'm so (I'm so)
I'm so sick (I'm so sick)
I'm so (I'm so)
I'm so sick (I'm so sick)

poem by Cynthia DeMoines
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Im So Sick

ll break into your thoughts
With what's written on my heart
I will break, break

I'm so sick,
Infected with where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss,
Selfishness
I'm so sick
I'm so sick

If you want more of this
We can push out, sell out, die out
So you'll shut up
And stay sleeping
With my screaming in your itching ears

I'm so sick,
Infected with where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss,
Selfishness
I'm so sick
I'm so sick

Hear it, I'm screaming it
You're heeding to it now

Hear it! I'm screaming it!
You tremble at this sound

You sink into my clothes
And this invasion
Makes me feel
Worthless, hopeless, sick

I'm so sick,
Infected with where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss,
Selfishness
I'm so sick
I'm so sick

I'm so sick
Infected with where I live
Let me live without this
Empty bliss, selfishness
I'm so

[...] Read more

poem by cherry Tucker
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A Yawn

Sees a yawn
Gets infected
With the yawn
And a yawn
Too by itself
Then it tries to
Sleep to
Get some sleep to
Count the ships
And the sheep
A very tired poem
Yawns
But never sleeps
a tired poem
No more it is simply
A poem
Sleepless
True to
Its nature.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dunciad: Book IV

Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of light
Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal Night!
Of darkness visible so much be lent,
As half to show, half veil, the deep intent.
Ye pow'rs! whose mysteries restor'd I sing,
To whom time bears me on his rapid wing,
Suspend a while your force inertly strong,
Then take at once the poet and the song.

Now flam'd the Dog Star's unpropitious ray,
Smote ev'ry brain, and wither'd every bay;
Sick was the sun, the owl forsook his bow'r.
The moon-struck prophet felt the madding hour:
Then rose the seed of Chaos, and of Night,
To blot out order, and extinguish light,
Of dull and venal a new world to mould,
And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold.

She mounts the throne: her head a cloud conceal'd,
In broad effulgence all below reveal'd;
('Tis thus aspiring Dulness ever shines)
Soft on her lap her laureate son reclines.

Beneath her footstool, Science groans in chains,
And Wit dreads exile, penalties, and pains.
There foam'd rebellious Logic , gagg'd and bound,
There, stripp'd, fair Rhet'ric languish'd on the ground;
His blunted arms by Sophistry are borne,
And shameless Billingsgate her robes adorn.
Morality , by her false guardians drawn,
Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn,
Gasps, as they straighten at each end the cord,
And dies, when Dulness gives her page the word.
Mad Mathesis alone was unconfin'd,
Too mad for mere material chains to bind,
Now to pure space lifts her ecstatic stare,
Now running round the circle finds it square.
But held in tenfold bonds the Muses lie,
Watch'd both by Envy's and by Flatt'ry's eye:
There to her heart sad Tragedy addres'd
The dagger wont to pierce the tyrant's breast;
But sober History restrain'd her rage,
And promised vengeance on a barb'rous age.
There sunk Thalia, nerveless, cold, and dead,
Had not her sister Satire held her head:
Nor couldst thou, Chesterfield! a tear refuse,
Thou weptst, and with thee wept each gentle Muse.

When lo! a harlot form soft sliding by,
With mincing step, small voice, and languid eye;

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Jaundiced Eye

Black is beautiful, white is so pure
Can you see a difference? all I sees a blur
Is one color a virtue how can you be sure
Ignorance the disease education the cure
So how can you say that your proud of your race
Proud of your bender
Or proud of your faith
Fascism racism all starts out the same
Stop feeding the fire and smother the flame
Some people are smarter than others so dumb
The reason behind this a cultural one
And greatness isnt carried by blood
So get off your high horse
Youre no better than us
All seems infected that the infected spy
As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye
Youre the infected you can never deny
Youre arrogant, youre insolent, youre living a lie

song performed by NOFX
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kill the virus, not us

Kill the virus, not us

Recently this fever is frequently reported
Some even die
People infected by this virus
Range from slum dwellers to farm owners
Even doctors are not spared
Why a very successful film producer
And director too succumbed to this
The blame come on to us, the carriers
We, the Aedes mosquitoes
Thrive on juicy leave saps
And our female members have to have a
Human blood meal
If not for anything else,
For the continuation of our generation
The blood meal is taken early in the morning
Or in the evening with sunlight still being there
We have no clue as to
Whether the person on whom we feed
Suffers an infection of dengue or not
You may not know that
We too get infected by the virus
But we manage well without suffering any symptoms
By the time when all our body fluids
Are enriched with virus it will be
A week or ten days passed
After the blood meal from the infected person
This is when we become real carriers
We have the potential to infect a healthy person
With dengue virus if we happen to bite that person
We are just carriers, not knowing what we carry
Blaming us only is unfair
You hurriedly take measures to eliminate our species
It is not at all possible
We brave all your biological weapons
And you may not be aware that some of us
Have already developed resistance to
Most of your branded repellants and pesticides
We have some of these suggestions
For your staying uninfected by this virus
We admit, we only spread the infection
Remove and clear all such spots
Where we may establish a habitat
We suggest that you use a good mosquito net
And keep us away from you
We repeat, your repellants and pesticides
Are no longer effective against us
Or your genetic stalwarts can engineer
A mutation in us

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Insignificantly Significant

Millions of particles,
Making up my body.
Millions of bodies,
Making up a world.
Millions of worlds,
Making up a universe.
Removed from this,
I feel alone.
Yet, I am a piece of the puzzle.
A part of a bigger picture.
Insignificantly significant.
One infected cell spreading.
Affecting the body,
Eventually, killing the host.
One infected host spreading.
Eventually killing the world.
One cell at a time,
One person at a time.
But in order to heal the world,
The host must heal first.
For if an infected host can destroy,
Then a well host can build.
A body will heal,
One cell at a time.
Until it is healthy.
A world will heal,
One person at a time.
Until it is done.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Passing Perpetual Cemeteries En Route To The Eventual Wedding

Like a salt seasoned
chain smoking
speakeasy sleuth:
A mind's eye Sam Spade -
too tired to care, sporting a shadowy
jungle growth of shipwrecked
castaway facial hair,
tongue lapped by the sailor's briny thirst,
I prematurely snuff out my cigarette,
pick up my trusty sidekick pen,
pocket traveling notebook and survey the room.
Suspicious sundry of circumstance and motive
outlining the alcohol enthralled milieu
As I write, a pale citrine curious
beam of clean lemon light
illuminates the paper thin margins;
empty space uniting each individual word;
second hand smoke upwreathes in
casual succession rising and dissipating,
rising and dissipating
like dusty noire barroom clockwork.

Wounded, wandering
day by day;
stranded, staggering
place to place,
suffering great distances;
the observer's remote outpost;
the stomach's timedelayed homesickness

My scattered attention span
buzzing in and out;
a myriad of mind numbing conversations,
like a hive sick pollen drunk bee
without flower to land,
stuck in the sinuous sticky-sweet
honeycomb of day to day deja vu.

Perdition's long cherished tradition
Tip-tip-tipplin' time away
Drinking with a purpose
Drinking to forget
Drinking to converse
Drinking with Vesuvian vengeance
in a Sudden hiccup rumbling
feeling the night go from bad to worse

still nursing the effects of last night's
life long hang over
Every night passing perpetual cemeteries en route to the eventual wedding

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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Do Not Read This Poem

do not ever read this poem
this poem is containing a virus
and once you read it
you get infected by it,

do not continue reading this
stop at this point.... here....

-nothing follows-

sorry, but you are already
infected by this poem

the cure however is there,
read it back and when you arrive
at the last word

thank yourself, you are worthy of the title
gullible like the author....(ha ha ha)

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The Second Book

She spake, and lo! celestial radiance beam'd
Amid the air, such odors wafting now
As erst came blended with the evening gale,
From Eden's bowers of bliss. An angel form
Stood by the Maid; his wings, etherial white,
Flash'd like the diamond in the noon-tide sun,
Dazzling her mortal eye: all else appear'd
Her THEODORE.
Amazed she saw: the Fiend
Was fled, and on her ear the well-known voice
Sounded, tho' now more musically sweet
Than ever yet had thrill'd her charmed soul,
When eloquent Affection fondly told
The day-dreams of delight.
'Beloved Maid!
Lo! I am with thee! still thy Theodore!
Hearts in the holy bands of Love combin'd,
Death has no power to sever. Thou art mine!
A little while and thou shalt dwell with me
In scenes where Sorrow is not. Cheerily
Tread thou the path that leads thee to the grave,
Rough tho' it be and painful, for the grave
Is but the threshold of Eternity.

Favour'd of Heaven! to thee is given to view
These secret realms. The bottom of the abyss
Thou treadest, Maiden! Here the dungeons are
Where bad men learn repentance; souls diseased
Must have their remedy; and where disease
Is rooted deep, the remedy is long
Perforce, and painful.'
Thus the Spirit spake,
And led the Maid along a narrow path,
Dark gleaming to the light of far-off flames,
More dread than darkness. Soon the distant sound
Of clanking anvils, and the lengthened breath
Provoking fire are heard: and now they reach
A wide expanded den where all around
Tremendous furnaces, with hellish blaze,
Flamed dreadful. At the heaving bellows stood
The meagre form of Care, and as he blew
To augment the fire, the fire augmented scorch'd
His wretched limbs: sleepless for ever thus
He toil'd and toil'd, of toil to reap no end
But endless toil and never-ending woe.

An aged man went round the infernal vault,
Urging his workmen to their ceaseless task:
White were his locks, as is the wintry snow
On hoar Plinlimmon's head. A golden staff

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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I Hold These Random Thoughts

For quite some times…my beloved seems
to misunderstand things we've done
and what to do about those things.
I've grown weary sitting in that tempest pot
filled with 'vengeance is mine' instead of
'love your neighbor as yourself.'
Some so -called Christ-children speak
divinely, yet not journey with [H]im as
LOUDLY proclaimed!

Imagining neighbors in different regions
can apportion memories of unshared
youths digging potatoes in separate fields;
chopping worthless weeds that surround
my momma's lush collard greens. Still I
envision lying in a hammock made of lovely
fabric and suspended between those infected
with love and those infected by satan virus.

Thinking still of growing up in different locales.
How the midday sand burns feet and the
cold snow you rolled into a big heap
you sang hymns; I counted sheep to sleep

By hand, cotton-picking was back breaking; and with
evolution, souls triumphantly cotton up to changes..

poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Stigma

See her seated there all by herself
God! This town is so full of lonely people
She is beautiful among all I have seen
Though her face is wet from weaping
Maybe her lover has left her sinking
She was a princess among her peers
All her friends have become her haters
Now they have come out as heroes
Even those who dared not look in her face
Those against her have become the head.
Something has happenf to her
She has been infected, infected with
The deadly disease
Now the unavoidable fear of stigmatization
Has become her best friend
For how long will this last?
Only God knows,
But this I know for sure
No one lives frever. At the end
We will all accout for our lives,
To our maker.
So, now is the only time we have
To make all the changes
We need to live for eternity
With our maker in paradise.

poem by Efe Benjamin
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Mine When Fresh

You took it!
I don't want it any more.
You can't bring it back...
To attach as if not disconnected.
It's been infected,
By rejection and remorse allowed.
It was mine when fresh,
When selected and inspected.
I broke it in!
Remember when that happened?
Remember when it popped?
And I craved and could not stop!
You took it!
I don't want it any more.
You can't bring it back...
To attach as if not disconnected.
It's been infected,
By rejection and remorse allowed.
It was mine when fresh,
When selected and inspected.
I broke it in!
Remember when that happened?
Remember when it popped?
And I craved and could not stop!
I can not believe,
You shared my cherry!
Leaving me in the 'pits'...
Where I choose to sit,
Reminiscing how I made you groan.
I do not wish to hear your version,
Of an excursion meant just to tease...
Pleasing another on 'loan'
Because you say you missed my moans!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Wonderful Feeling (Revised)

A fervent plea, an impassioned SOS to
the remote IT – Help, my computer’s
failed; disciples of cool calmly reply,
bring us the CPU. CPU? Yes, it means

dismantle, dissemble or disembowel
the beast, locate the malfunctioning
piece, balance precariously on a chair
with wheels and drag it down here

Security says disbelievingly, Oh no, you
must fill out this form in duplicate at
least, CPU detail, your name – and oh,
plus another for the chair;

Struggling with anxious sweat brow-
breaking and running unchecked down
my face, finally reach IT - my arrival
ignored – Please, I beg, sanitise my

virus-infected CPU – Tech Siyabonga
says, Ok, leave it, we’ll fix it soon and
abruptly leaves to teach me the true
meaning of ‘laissez-faire’ – deflated

return to empty desk noted by June
who offers use of desk-top spare, I’m
suddenly hub of activity – Mme La
Pompadour making funny remarks, a

baby crying somewhere, June and
Hanlie happily laughing creates a
safe atmosphere in which every
translation moment is blissfully

ensconced in a bright bubble their
dedicated work ethic creates, such
a wonderful feeling being part of
the show….

[ORIGINAL]

Ran down to IT – S.O.S - computer not
working - Bring the CPU, the disciples of
cool calmly replied; went back to dismantle
and drag a precariously balanced CPU
down on a chair with wheels

Oh no, Mr Security Man said, fill in this form

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Our moral responsibility

How many more will have to die
Before we identify this lie
And how many families must be destroyed?
Before we turn our gaze unto the Lord
Why must those infected suffer isolation?
And they that are affected experience discrimination
Have we become so inhumane?
Allowing the stain of HIV to drive us insane
I am ashamed at how we have become desensitized
Feeling the need to segregate and stigmatize
Since we are infected one by one
Our time of responsibility has come
For too long HIV has threatened the extinction of humanity
Consistently increasing as the cause of mortality
Some infections occur medically
While others are the result of infidelity and issues of sexuality
This disease is not airborne
Yet our mind, body and soul has been torn
Sometimes I wonder why we feel pain
And why we complain when it rains
Why must we endure pressure?
To see that life is truly a treasure
All is takes is one unguarded moment
To be condemned to a lifetime of torment
Nevertheless, there is life with HIV
You choose to live meaningfully or in misery
To control our anxiety
We need to explore our natural state of purity
We are all answerable
To those that HIV has disabled
Men you are implored to honour the woman’s femininity
As women are beseeched to respect the man’s masculinity
The youths demand our accountability
And we are all to reverence each others divinity
In 2009
It is time
For us as a people to lay aside our fears
As we control this disease and wipe away the tears
It is a human right to a normal life
Thus this year’s theme is universal access without any strife
I advocate that there is a cure for the dreaded HIV
This is to embrace our unity and exercise morality

poem by Astell Collins
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