The nose of him whose guide is a crow will never get out of the shit.
Turkish proverbs
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Prince Dorus
In days of yore, as Ancient Stories tell,
A King in love with a great Princess fell.
Long at her feet submiss the Monarch sigh'd,
While she with stern repulse his suit denied.
Yet was he form'd by birth to please the fair,
Dress'd, danc'd, and courted, with a Monarch's air;
But Magic Spells her frozen breast had steel'd
With stubborn pride, that knew not how to yield.
This to the King a courteous Fairy told,
And bade the Monarch in his suit be bold;
For he that would the charming Princess wed,
Had only on her cat's black tail to tread,
When straight the Spell would vanish into air,
And he enjoy for life the yielding fair.
He thank'd the Fairy for her kind advice.-
Thought he, 'If this be all, I'll not be nice;
Rather than in my courtship I will fail,
I will to mince-meat tread Minon's black tail.'
To the Princess's court repairing strait,
He sought the cat that must decide his fate;
But when he found her, how the creature stared!
How her back bristled, and her great eyes glared!
That tail, which he so fondly hop'd his prize,
Was swell'd by wrath to twice its usual size;
And all her cattish gestures plainly spoke,
She thought the affair he came upon, no joke.
With wary step the cautious King draws near,
And slyly means to attack her in her rear;
But when he thinks upon her tail to pounce,
Whisk-off she skips-three yards upon a bounce-
Again he tries, again his efforts fail-
Minon's a witch-the deuce is in her tail.-
The anxious chase for weeks the Monarch tried,
Till courage fail'd, and hope within him died.
A desperate suit 'twas useless to prefer,
Or hope to catch a tail of quicksilver.-
When on a day, beyond his hopes, he found
Minon, his foe, asleep upon the ground;
Her ample tail hehind her lay outspread,
Full to the eye, and tempting to the tread.
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Lamb
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor
Part One
When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.
Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '
Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.
After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.
In high school he took AP courses, and took 3 courses at a nearby college.
He ignored girls and sports and concentrated on gaining knowledge.
He got a full scholarship to Harvard, but his advisor looked at him funny.
By age 26 he had his PhD in psychology and started making money.
But he still asked 'why? '
It still bothered him and at times he'd cry.
Then waking up one day from a dream, Bri suddenly asked himself 'were they shy?
And if so, why with ME and not the other boys? Why DID they cry? '
The answer could be that his brain and looks were superior.
Were those girls only uncomfortable with boys that were inferior (to him) ?
If that really was the answer, he could now save face,
and could pursue women with HIS high level of brains, looks, and grace.
(But WAS it the answer? He was still not SURE why they did cry.)
For now he would work hard, avoid girls, and try to keep his eyes dry.
In two more years would be a second high school reunion. Thoughts of attending gave Bri a fright. (He'd skipped the first,5 year, reunion.)
But by going this time he might find out if his answer to his 'why? ' was right.
PART TWO
For two more years he waited anxiously for invitation he was dreading.
At times he'd awaken at night from a 'reunion dream', profusely sweating.
Finally it arrived in mail; it would be in June, before it got TOO warm.
He kept his calendar free for the whole month, doubting, at work, he could perform.
He got out the yearbooks his Mom had bought, and he studied each girl's name.
Would he have the nerve to ask them 'why? ' ….OR would he be too scared and lame?
He lived on sedatives for a week. He picked his favorite tie, and a light grey business suit.
Would he find out if the girls had just been shy, or would they give him 'the boot'?
[...] Read more
poem by Bri Edwards
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Untitled...
Untitled!
A girl of beauty, always a smile on her and the ones she touched
Full of love and grace and the will to learn,
Nothing could stand in her way!
Or so she thought…
This girl of beauty was neglected
By the one who was suppose to love her unconditionally
He abandoned her and she never knew why
Her tears flowed down stinging her disfigured body and soul
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
Looking in the mirror that’s not her
It was the father she longed for, reached for
But that is all he was a reflection…
In her mind she thought there are ways
Ways to fill this void and once again smile
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see?
Her body became her weakness as it was molested and tainted
They would fill her for that moment
until they too where gone
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
She always found a replacement
And she would give all she’s got
But he always wanted more
She felt she had to prove or he too shall be gone
So that’s what she did let him hit it raw
Chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis…what beautiful flowers he gave her
This girl of beauty she has an STD
And she doesn’t know
But shit can’t anybody see
White powdered nose, bright coloured pills
These became her escape
These became her friends
Out at the club with her new friends
She’d once again aim to please
Who ever it was never said no
Just promised her flowers like all others before
This girl of beauty has a STD
And she doesn’t know it
[...] Read more
poem by Lerato Shuping
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Old Jim Crow
Ron vander groef, jackie alper, nina simone
Old jim crow
Where you been baby
Down mississippi and back again
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Whats wrong with you
It aint your name
Its the things you do
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Youve been around too long
Gotta work the devil
til your dead and gone
Old jim crow
Yes, dont you know
Its all over now
Its all over now
Old jim crow
You know its true
When you hurt my brother
You hurt me too
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
I thought I had you beat
Now I see you walkin
And talkin up and down my street
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Youve been around too long
Gotta work the devil
til your dead and gone
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over
All over
Oh lord, its all over
All over
Its all over
Its all over
Its all over now.
song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Crow and The Butterfly
Ever wonder why the Crow chases the Butterfly?
Have you ever heard the Crow let out it's cry?
I think I found out why...
It's quite the interesting story, I had to pry..
The Butterfly's beauty, the Crow's will never match.
The Crow's life is nothing compared the the Butterfly's since it's first hatch.
If you are good enough to get a Butterfly, that is quite a catch.
Get a Crow somehow and it gets thrown right back out to the patch.
The Crow has had it so much easier than the Butterfly.
Straight jealousy from the Crow because they have to share the sky.
The Butterfly's flight is reason to stare, the Crow's just reason to cry.
Everyone stops to get a glance of a Buttflies, a few Crows and people pass by.
So if you ever hear a Crow cry,
Or see a Butterfly being chased by a Crow,
Just think how bad that Crow wants to be a Butterfly.....
poem by Joe Gosart
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Little Chief
Touch me now
Feel my face
You are the one
For you I breathe
Eager hands in skin so fresh
You are the one
For you I breathe
Trusting smile
So sweet and safe
You are the one
For you I breathe
So touch me now
And trust always
For you are the one
You are my son
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With open arms
I'll guide and I'll lead
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With an open mind
I'll guide and I'll lead
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With open eyes
I'll guide and I'll lead
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With an open mind
I'll guide and I'll lead
You where ever your heart wants to go
Touch me now
Feel my face
You are the one
For you I breathe
Eager hands in skin so fresh
You are the one
For you I breathe
Eager hands in skin so fresh
You are the one
For you I breathe
Trusting smile
So sweet and safe
You are the one
For you I breathe
So touch me now
And trust always
You are my son
Precious little life
[...] Read more
song performed by Xavier Rudd
Added by Lucian Velea
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Little Chief
Touch me now
Feel my face
You are the one
For you I breathe
Eager hands in skin so fresh
You are the one
For you I breathe
Trusting smile
So sweet and safe
You are the one
For you I breathe
So touch me now
And trust always
For you are the one
You are my son
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With open arms
I'll guide and I'll lead
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With an open mind
I'll guide and I'll lead
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With open eyes
I'll guide and I'll lead
Precious little life
To guide and lead
With an open mind
I'll guide and I'll lead
You where ever your heart wants to go
Touch me now
Feel my face
You are the one
For you I breathe
Eager hands in skin so fresh
You are the one
For you I breathe
Eager hands in skin so fresh
You are the one
For you I breathe
Trusting smile
So sweet and safe
You are the one
For you I breathe
So touch me now
And trust always
You are my son
Precious little life
[...] Read more
song performed by Xavier Rudd
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Crow On The Cradle
(from the soundtrack to no nukes; peformed live by jackson browne with graham nash & david lindley)
The sheeps in the meadow
The cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
Hell laugh at the moon
And cry for the sun
And if its a boy hell carry a gun
Sang the crow on the cradle
And if it should be that this babys a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesnt curl
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
And a bomber above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow on the cradle
The crow on the cradle
The black and the white
Somebodys baby is born for a fight
The crow on the cradle
The white and the black
Somebodys baby is not coming back
Sang the crow on the cradle
Your mother and father will sweat and theyll slave
To build you a coffin and dig you a grave
Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep
For weve got a toy that can put you to sleep
Sang the crow on the cradle
Bring me my gun, and Ill shoot that bird dead
Thats what your mother and father once said
The crow on the cradle, what can we do
Ah, this is a thing that Ill leave up to you
Sang the crow on the cradle
Sang the crow on the cradle
song performed by Jackson Browne
Added by Lucian Velea
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Black Crow
He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all
song performed by Jamiroquai
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Common Crow
The Common Crow, "Caw-Caw"—with its familiar sound
Is a harmless bird very adaptable on land
Almost all over the world it is invariably found
Except in South America, Antarctica and New Zealand.
It is of average size—in color—grey and black
And abounds, teems and thrives in many numbers
Where other birds' survival is considerably slack
As it is the most intelligent of its bird family members.
The Ravens, Magpies, Rooks, the Black-birds
And the Jays—all belong to the family of the crow
They are all hunting migratory birds
Who forage together like the crow.
It has shining black feathers, is clever and curious
It is omnivorous and the diet is very diverse
It eats grains, rodents, insects and is mischievous
And swoops down to grasp things from man's source.
It roosts in large trees high up
Each mating pair has its own nest
Which usually takes one to two weeks to build up
Gathering leaves, feathers, sticks and twigs best.
Baby crows stay in the nest
For up to two months before leaving
The mother crow guards them with zest
And the father crow feeds the family striving.
The young are flesh-colored and born blind
Their eyes open for the first time after five days
The young ones- the family together mind
The elder fledglings tend to help in their own ways.
In Hinduism it is customary to offer food
To the crow before taking the meal
And it is supposed during ‘Shraddha ‘expired ones would
Take food and offerings through the crow's feel.
The crow often lives together in large families
An assembly of crows called a ‘flock of murder'
Forge together and defend their territories
Even high up in the air and down under.
It caws and calls the other crows to its station
To take part of the food that is found
It shows signs of planning communication
Which man must consider and himself bound.
[...] Read more
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part II.
“Dame,” said the Panther, “times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.
The toils were pitched, a spacious tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;
The inclosure narrowed; the sagacious power
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.
'Tis true, the younger lion 'scaped the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled,
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, whate'er promises you have applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide;
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.”
“As I remember,” said the sober Hind,
“Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the selfsame throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,—
Forgive the slanderous tongues that called you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but, thinking long,
The test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue:
And to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
After long fencing pushed against a wall,
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There changed your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?”
“Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er owned myself infallible,”
Replied the Panther: “grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.”
“Then,” said the Hind, “as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks, an Æsop's fable you repeat;
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your Church's substance thus you change at will,
[...] Read more
poem by John Dryden
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Rook
Rook, rook read from your book
Who murders who and where is the treasure hid?
Crow, crow spill all you know
Is that my name on the bell?
Rook, rook gaze in the brook
If theres a secret can I be part of it?
Crow, crow before Ill let go, say is that my name on the bell?
Soar up high, see the semaphore from the washing lines
Break the code of the whispering chimneys and traffic signs
Wheres the message thats written under the base of clouds?
Plans eternal, I know you know, so dont blurt out loud
Rook, rook by hook or by crook
Ill make you tell me what this whole things about!
Crow, crow why cant you show
If thats my name on the bell?
On the wings of night, I fly too, above field and stream
My head bursting with knowledge till I wake from the dream
If I die and I find that I had a soul inside
Promise me that youll take it up on its final ride
Rook, rook gaze in the brook
If theres a secret can I be part of it?
Crow, crow before Ill let go, say is that my name on the bell?
Is that my name on the bell?
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Why the Jackass Laughs
The Boastful Crow and the Laughing Jack
Were telling tales of the outer back:
"I've just been travelling far and wide,
At the back of Bourke and the Queensland side;
There isn't a bird in the bush can go
As far as me," said the old black crow.
"There isn't a bird in the bush can fly
A course as straight or a course as high.
Higher than human eyesight goes.
There's sometimes clouds -- but there's always crows,
Drifting along for a scent of blood
Or a smell of smoke or a sign of flood.
For never a bird or a beast has been
With a sight as strong or a scent as keen.
At fires and floods I'm the first about,
For then the lizards and mice run out:
And I make my swoop -- and that's all they know --
I'm a whale on mice," said the Boastful Crow.
The Bee-birds over the homestead flew
And told each other the long day through
"The cold has come, we must take the track."
"Now, I'll make you a bet," said the Laughing Jack,
"Of a hundred mice, that you dare not go
With the little Bee-birds, by Boastful Crow."
Said the Boastful Crow, "I could take my ease
And fly with little green birds like these.
If they went flat out and they did their best
I could have a smoke and could take a rest."
And he asked of the Bee-birds circling round:
"Now, where do you spike-tails think you're bound?"
"We leave tonight, and out present plan
is to go straight on till we reach Japan.
"Every year, on the self-same day,
We call our children and start away,
Twittering, travelling day and night,
Over the ocean we take our flight;
And we rest a day on some lonely isles
Or we beg a ride for a hundred miles
On a steamer's deck,* and away we go:
We hope you'll come with us, Mister Crow."
But the old black crow was extremely sad.
Said he: "I reckon you're raving mad
To talk of travelling night and day,
And how in the world do you find your way?"
And the Bee-birds answered him, "If you please,
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Nose
No one cares for the nose
To go nose straight is the tao
If there were no eyes
You could see better with your nose
If there were no nose
you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter
And there would be no value judgements in the world
And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold
And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad
The nose is the vigilant customs officer
That does not allow any drug to your lungs
And the nose cannot be bribed
Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body
And the pivot of value judgement in the world
If that name thou love
Remain with us and teach the noseless world
That it must have a nose in this wartorn world
He who knows the greatness of nose
Surely goes to the realm of rose
In the life to come
Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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I Seek To Hear God Guide
Your enemy aint here in me.
I refuse to breathe that life you see.
Or stay prolonged on bended knees.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
When I listen I believe.
I'm to follow not to lead.
And rise above those petty pleas...
Of who says what just to compete.
God's guidance is what I seek.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
God guides me both day and night.
God is always by my side.
Your enemy aint here in me.
I refuse to breathe that life you see.
Or stay prolonged on bended knees.
Oh I seek,
To hear God guide.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
God guides me both day and night.
God is always by my side.
Oh I seek,
To hear God guide.
I seek,
To hear God guide.
Oh I seek,
To hear God guide.
God guides me both day and night.
When I listen I believe.
I'm to follow not to lead.
And rise above those petty pleas...
Of who says what just to compete.
God's guidance is what I seek.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Every Friday
Every Friday I look like a shit,
Every Friday I look like a shit,
Every Friday I look like a shit,
I loooooooook like a shit.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
But every Monday I am like a horn,
But every Monday I am like a horn,
I aaaaaaaaam like a hoooooooooorn.
I work in the office of intercom,
I work in the office of intercom,
I work in the office of intercom,
Of iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinter cooooooom.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
And every Tuesday I am like a horn,
On Wednesday and Tuesday I am a horn,
I aaaaaaaaaaaam like a hoooooooooooorn.
On every Friday I look like a shit,
My salary is more now a little bit.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
It looks as on Sunday I was born.
On Friday morning I am so glad
That by the evening I’ll look like a fad
Or may be like a dirty pig
Trying the ground to dig, dig, dig.
But…every Monday I am like a horn,
On certain Sunday I was born,
And every Friday I am like a shit.
My life is better........, a little bit.
More or less
It was my sincere confess.
Lol, lol, lol and loooooooool.
On every Friday there is no control.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
March 16th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Educatıon
They ain't trying to educate me
All they give a shit is what i memorized lately
I don't give a shit about my education
All i give a shit is for my future transformation
I'm waiting for my graduation
School is full of segregation
Alway's talking about toleration
Think your all that cause you got higher education
Tolerating jokes on mental retardation
You don't give a shit about our education
You're only waiting for you're weekly compensation
Your full of shit
Our school has a bad name
And yet you fill our heads with accusation
We ain't doing nothing right
We're only going against the constitution
Killing our own blood
It's affecting the population
Collide the black and white
Until we make a new combination
Don't acuse me
It's messing up my concentration
It's your fault
The street's on prostitution
They're pregnant
And now trying to look for blood relation
Thinking we need all that shit for our future
Now that's just exaggeration
You better do your job right
Or face elimination
your destination is coming
Just put a gun on your head
And thats my recommendation
Your forgetting about us
All your worrying about is alien communication
With the foundation of alien translation
Go head
You could try the run from destination
But at the end you'll just have to put a gun on your head and
face your own elimination
poem by Ludmar Barbosa
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Mistake of Fact!
Crow! Crow!
Male crow! Female crow!
Love each other,
Wife and husband;
Wife crow lays eggs,
All are white!
Husband crow suspects
Loyalty and fidelity;
Ignorant husband,
Innocent wife,
Wife crow shows
other nests;
Trust assured
Sorry sorry,
Mistake of Fact, Forget it,
We love for ever!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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16 Shells From A 30-06
Words and music by tom waits
Plugged 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
And the black crow flew through
A hole in the sky
And I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule
And I made me a ladder ftom a pawn shop marimba
And I leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Well I cooked them feathers on the iron spit
And I filled me a sachel full of old pig corn
And I beat me a billy from an old french horn
And kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Blew me a hole bout the size of a kickdrum
And I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow
Im gonna whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Well I slept in the hotter of a dry creek bed
And I tore out the buckets from a red corvette
Tore out the buckets from a red corvette
Lionel, dave and the butcher made three
You got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinny bone tree
With the strings of a washburn
Stretched like a clothesline
You know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Im gonna whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells ftom a thirty-aught-six
Whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Now I hold him prisoner in a washburn jail
And I strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
Strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy
And I strum it toud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Im gonna whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
song performed by Bob Seger
Added by Lucian Velea
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Two Old Crows
Two old crows sat on a fence rail.
Two old crows sat on a fence rail,
Thinking of effect and cause,
Of weeds and flowers,
And nature's laws.
One of them muttered, one of them stuttered,
One of them stuttered, one of them muttered.
Each of them thought far more than he uttered.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle.
One crow asked the other crow a riddle:
The muttering crow
Asked the stuttering crow,
"Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?
Why does a bee have a sword to his fiddle?"
"Bee-cause," said the other crow,
"Bee-cause,
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause."
Just then a bee flew close to their rail: --
"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ."
And those two black crows
Turned pale,
And away those crows did sail.
Why?
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.
"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Added by Poetry Lover
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