Citatepedia^®.com

I used to be psychic, but I drank my way out of it.

quote by Mark E. Smith
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

You Ain't Got It Like a Psychic

You can't tell me what I'm thinking...
Until I tell you what that is!

Uh-uh...
You ain't got it like a psychic.

You can run around and tell folks,
What you think my business is!

But,
Uh-uh...
You ain't got it like a psychic.

You can sneak across the floor.
And put your ear to the door.
Tell my neighbors and friends,
What I do and who for!
But,
Uh-uh,
You ain't got it like a psychic.

It's too bad your lips don't seal.
You need to hush 'em.
You need to keep them closed.

It's so sad you have a mind that reveals...
It's gonna crack!
It's ripe for that.
Waiting to set you back with a heart attack.

It's too bad your lips don't seal.
You need to hush 'em.
You need to keep them closed.

It's so sad you have a mind that reveals...
It's gonna crack!
It's ripe for that.

You can run around and tell folks,
What you think my business is!
But,
Uh-uh...
You ain't got it like a psychic.

You can sneak across the floor.
And put your ear to the door.
But,
Uh-uh,
You ain't got it like a psychic.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Vengeful Psychic

There once was a psychic who loved to chat,

She made up lies to Christina, saying this or that.

See, psychic needed more money and she wanted revenge,

So she started telling lies to all of Christina's friends.

Then of course she told Christina the biggest lie of all,

She told Christina to date Skunky and suck on his balls.

Skunky was of course the worst creep Christina had ever met,

He was a liar, a cheat and even did theft.

But in the end, Skunky became the psychic’s friend…

Stalking her on the internet.

Then of course psychic didn’t know,

She emailed Skunky photos of her 'island with no snow'.

But as soon as Skunky telephoned psychic a thousand times X 2,

She quickly ended it with Skunky and said they were through.

Now, Skunky had no redeeming qualities as of yet,

But his stalking the psychic made Christina very upset,

And it made Christina think “who is the one I’m worse off to have met?

Well, they are both really scummy just the same,

Playing on Christina’s good heart like a volleyball game.

But Christina won out over both of them,

Making rhyming peeve poems is the best revenge.

Written on Jan.20,2011 by Christina Sunrise

Copyright 2011 Chevalier Originals, Inc.

poem by Christina Sunrise
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sophia The Psychic She Lived Down The Road

Sophia the psychic she lived down the road
She knew the roads she knew the souls
An Antipythia of the broken heart
Wept ‘don’t know thyself ‘tis too deep’
Know thy paths not entangled they are
‘spread like lilies’ not needing the truth

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

Sophia the psychic she met me one day
I looked into her eyes compassion I smiled
Yes, she started, and she could not stop
Against my smile her intermittent sobs

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

‘Tis passion Sophia I asked
Why are you telling me what I already know
Obsession, Sophia, leave the past in peace
Take some rest and do not worry

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

I am centuries old as well but still too young for your tears
And don’t ask for my coins for I have none
All the pearls of wisdom you’ve already gained
There’s no way for you to be repaid

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Forsaking All Others Part 1

'NOT that you'll like him,' Nell said,
'No mystery - no romance,
A fine, stern, eagle-like head,
But he simply reeks of finance, -­
Started from nothing - self-made -­
And rather likes you to know it,
And now collects porcelain and jade,
Or some Seventeenth Century poet.

'Married in simpler days,
A poor little wren of a being,
Who exists to pray and praise,
And spends her life agreeing,
Thin and dowdy and pale,
And getting paler and thinner­
Well, the point of this dreary tale
Is I've asked them both to dinner.

'I'd leave her out like a shot,
For I'm not so keen about her,
But, my dear, believe it or not,
He won't dine out without her.
She has that terrible hold
That aging wives exert to
Replace young charms grown old­
Poor health and impeccable virtue.

'Lightly I asked them to dine,
And now I perceive the dangers,
My friends-yours and mine­
Are so terribly rude to strangers.
But you, dear girl, I can trust
To come and be brilliant and tender;
Vamp the man, if you must,
But give an impression of splendor.'

II

LEE sat before her mirror... rouged her lips,
Set dripping diamond earrings in her ears,
Polished a little at her finger tips,
Thought that she did not look her thirty years;

Thought, 'Poor dear Nellie's ill-assorted feasts!
I want to be as helpful as I can
Among that group of men and gods and beasts...
Why does she think I shall not like this man?

She made him sound entrancing... strong and crude,
Successful, dominant...I, who for so long

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sweet and Soft Whispers

I may not be a bit psychic...
But I know it's there.
That love inside you fight.
With a wish I might like it.

No, I may not be a psychic...
But that fragrance you wear is in the air.
You want to give me a chance.
To cuddle up and romance.

I believe you want me alone.
To claim and have me as your own.
You want me close enough to hear...
Those sweet and soft whispers in my ear.

And I may not be a bit psychic.
But I know it is there.
That love inside you fighting to appear.
With a wish that I might like it.
And have it in my arms to hold it near.

Oh...
Your excitement you try to hide.
But I know it's there.
And not that deep inside.
And I just may keep it a secret...
Until you make me aware.

I may not be a psychic...
But I know what you feel,
For me...
Is there!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

From House To House

The first was like a dream through summer heat,
The second like a tedious numbing swoon,
While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat
Beneath a winter moon.

'But,' says my friend, 'what was this thing and where?'
It was a pleasure-place within my soul;
An earthly paradise supremely fair
That lured me from the goal.

The first part was a tissue of hugged lies;
The second was its ruin fraught with pain:
Why raise the fair delusion to the skies
But to be dashed again?

My castle stood of white transparent glass
Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire,
But when the summer sunset came to pass
It kindled into fire.

My pleasaunce was an undulating green,
Stately with trees whose shadows slept below,
With glimpses of smooth garden-beds between
Like flame or sky or snow.

Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease,
With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife;
All singing-birds rejoicing in those trees
Fulfilled their careless life.

Woodpigeons cooed there, stockdoves nestled there;
My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit,
Their branches spread a city to the air
And mice lodged in their root.

My heath lay farther off, where lizards lived
In strange metallic mail, just spied and gone;
Like darted lightnings here and there perceived
But nowhere dwelt upon.

Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plod
And propagate in peace, an uncouth crew,
Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nod
And spill the morning dew.

All caterpillars throve beneath my rule,
With snails and slugs in corners out of sight;
I never marred the curious sudden stool
That perfects in a night.

[...] Read more

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Well of St. Keyne

A Well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from the cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the house hard by
At the Well to fill his pail;
On the Well-side he rested it,
And he bade the Stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he,
"For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here."
The Stranger he made reply,
"But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why?"

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time
Drank of this crystal Well,
And before the Angel summon'd her,
She laid on the water a spell.

"If the Husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his Wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be Master for life.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Two Souls Trapped

An elderly couple in their car
smashed into a wall
they didn't go very far.
Car was removed but their souls fought on
the wife yelled 'If you would of looked
are car would of moved and we would be gone.'
Psychic heard the fight for weeks on end
the couple never made it to heaven.
Until one day in this Vegas parking lot
the psychic never heard them and then she thought-
another psychic must of told them to go to the light
or if not they moved someone where else to have their fight.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 14,2012

poem by Christina Sunrise
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Pick A Fight

I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me

You say that I'm the only one
The one you're looking for
Try and keep a straight face when you laugh
You talk to me like I'm a saint
But all your friends just say
We have been so over for some time

And I know that you had the best intentions for me
I know that what you're saying is goodbye

I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me

You say you changed your mind again
You don't know how you feel
Give me some more time is what you say
You wanna use me like a toy
That you get bored with
Now you wanna store me far away

And I know that you had the best intentions for me
I know that what you're saying is goodbye...goodbye

I can't be happy without you
You can't be happy without me
Still you always wanna pick a fight now
You say it's written in the stars
Some psychic read it in my cards
Still you always wanna pick a fight with me

I can't be happy without you
I can't be happy without me

[...] Read more

song performed by Goldfinger from Stomping Ground
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

~ Bio Psychic Kiss ~

~ Bio Psychic Kiss ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
16 August 2010

Bio Psychic Kiss
Croons for catharsis.

Mull muse mitosis
Kibosh mute meiosis.

Niminy-piminy noesis
In oomphy orgy osmosis.

Syncretistic synthesis
Open splashy sluice
Bask blottoed bliss.

En fête relish éclat
Zippy zesty zygosis.

Join with Gen Next
In smooch symbiosis
Of Bio-Psychic Kiss!

==
Glossary with humility I’m giving what I tried to express
[1] Niminy-piminy ~ Affectedly dainty or refined
[2] En fête [French] ~ In festive mood
[3] Éclat ~ Brilliant effect
[4] Zygosis ~ The state of being joined together [conjugation]
~~~~~~
Copyright reserved by author

poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Chosen To Change Prophecy Potentials

he may be psychic
he may foretell the future...
but the only future he writes
is with a quill and ink...

I may be psychic.
I may foretell the future.
But the only future I write.
Is with a ballpoint pen.

they may be psychic
they may foretell the future...
but their future write
is with a computer tablet...

this future references
future net human societies
therefore it is not applicable
to two lives we ourselves

if born in different places
if born in different times...
if born in different decades
if born in different centuries...

or is it soul purpose applicable
though on a set parallel scale
of timed minimal importance
dominance of earlier soul purpose

visions of artistic output
claim pressing precedence...
intrinsically eye inscribes
mind set sight shock waves...

a prophet
is born
to fulfill
a specific

life
a preordained...
energy
flesh incarnate...

message
is radiated

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I sung sometimes

I sung sometimes my thoughts’ and fancy's pleasure,
Where then I list, or time serv’d best and leisure,
While Daphne did invite me
To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.
I smil’d, yet still did doubt her,
And drank where she had drank before, to flout her.
But oh while I did eye her,
My eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.

poem by John Wilbye
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Boy Growing Up In The Sixties

Played football
played marbles
played cricket
played truant.
First girl
first kiss
first fumble
first slap.
Drank orange
drank Cola
drank lemonade
drank beer.
Acted tough
acted silly
acted up
acted the fool.
Just young
just a boy
just a lad
just me.
The sixties
The Beatles
The Stones
The Who.
Great days
great times
great decade
Great Britain.

poem by Kevin Halls
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Stewball

(yellin / rinzler / herald)
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he were mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
His bridle was silver
And his mane it was gold
But worth of his saddle
Has never been told
The fairgrounds was crowded
And old stewball was there
But the betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare
Oh, way up yonder
Ahead of them all
Came prancing and dancing
My noble stewball
If I bet on the grey mare
And I bet on the bay
And if Id bet on old stewball
Id be a free man today
Oh, the hoot owl she hollers
And the turtle dove moans
Im a poor boy in trouble
Im a long way from home
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he was mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine

song performed by Hollies
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Girl On LSD

i was in love with a girl on marjuana
she said if "i'm that stoned i don't wana"
but she got so paranoid
her place i would avoid
i was in love with a girl on marjuana
i was in love with a girl on cocaine
she had everything going but a brain
we'd talk endlessly for hours
but by morning it goes sour
i was in love with a girl on cocaine
through exctasy, crystel meth and glue
i found no drug that compares to you
all these pills, all this weed
i dunno just what i need
i was in love with a girl on lsd
she'd see things i'd never see
she brightened her perspective
then i got more selective
i was in love with a girl on lsd
through exctasy, crystal meth and glue
i found no drug that compares to you
all these pills, all this weed
i dunno just what i need
i was in love with a girl who drank beer
till bad breath and all she disapeared
she was blowing up real bad
but when she left i was still sad
i was in love with a girl who drank beer
i was in love with a girl on china white
we were married for a year one day
her memory still lingers
cus i burned all my fingers
i was in love with a girl on chennaway
i was in love with a girl who drank coffee
there was times when i couldn't keep her off me
that caffine got her going
but her ugly side was showing
i was in love with a girl who drank coffee
i was in love with a girl who was a dealer
i was afraid somebody would come and steal her
we never used to fight
but the phone rang day and night
i was in love with a girl who was a dealer
sure as hell
she got popped by the big guys

song performed by Tom Petty
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Drank Like A River

Well, he was nearly died when he returned to the town hed come from
Hes brown bagging it tonight behind some tavern.
Somebody wrecked his life, and Ill bet you it was his darlin
Somebody wrecked his life, and Ill bet you it was his darlin
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face
Well, he was nearly died when he returned to the town hed come from
Hes hanging out drinking beer with his brother-in-law
He was a drinker at night, and in the morning he was unnerving
He was a drinker full time, the day that he lost his darlin
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face

song performed by Whiskeytown
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Drank Like A River

Well, he was nearly died when he returned to the town hed come from
Hes brown bagging it tonight behind some tavern.
Somebody wrecked his life, and Ill bet you it was his darlin
Somebody wrecked his life, and Ill bet you it was his darlin
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face
Well, he was nearly died when he returned to the town hed come from
Hes hanging out drinking beer with his brother-in-law
He was a drinker at night, and in the morning he was unnerving
He was a drinker full time, the day that he lost his darlin
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face
So he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang
Watched from the steeple as the choir girls sang
Died in a gutter on his feet and his hands...
The same hands that had once touched her face

song performed by Whiskeytown
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn

Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--

That, whenever they sat at their revels,
And drank from the golden bowl,
They might remember the donor,
And breathe a prayer for his soul.

So sat they once at Christmas,
And bade the goblet pass;
In their beards the red wine glistened
Like dew-drops in the grass.

They drank to the soul of Witlaf,
They drank to Christ the Lord,
And to each of the Twelve Apostles,
Who had preached his holy word.

They drank to the Saints and Martyrs
Of the dismal days of yore,
And as soon as the horn was empty
They remembered one Saint more.

And the reader droned from the pulpit
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac,
And Saint Basil's homilies;

Till the great bells of the convent,
From their prison in the tower,
Guthlac and Bartholomaeus,
Proclaimed the midnight hour.

And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney,
And the Abbot bowed his head,
And the flamelets flapped and flickered,
But the Abbot was stark and dead.

Yet still in his pallid fingers
He clutched the golden bowl,
In which, like a pearl dissolving,
Had sunk and dissolved his soul.

But not for this their revels
The jovial monks forbore,
For they cried, 'Fill high the goblet!
We must drink to one Saint more!'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Life's Hebe

IN the early morning-shine
Of a certain day divine,
I beheld a Maiden stand
With a pitcher in her hand;
Whence she poured into a cup
Until it was half filled up
Nectar that was golden light
In the cup of crystal bright.

And the first who took the cup
With pure water filled it up;
As he drank then, it was more
Ruddy golden than before:
And he leapt and danced and sang
As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang.

But the next who took the cup
With the red wine filled it up;
What he drank then was in hue
Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept,
Then lay faint but never slept.

And the next who took the cup
With the white milk filled it up;
What he drank at first seemed blood,
Then turned thick and brown as mud:
And he moved away as slow
As a weary ox may go.

But the next who took the cup
With sweet honey filled it up;
Nathless that which he did drink
Was thin fluid black as ink:
As he went he stumbled, soon,
And lay still in deathlike swoon.

She the while without a word
Unto all the cup preferred;
Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed
As each mingled his own draught.

And the next who took the cup
To the sunshine held it up,
Gave it back and did not taste;
It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow,
Then he kissed her on the brow.

But the next who took the cup

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Told By

Coming, clean from the Maryland-end
Of this great National Road of ours,
Through your vast West; with the time to spend,
Stopping for days in the main towns, where
Every citizen seemed a friend,
And friends grew thick as the wayside flowers,--
I found no thing that I might narrate
More singularly strange or queer
Than a thing I found in your sister-state
Ohio,--at a river-town--down here
In my notebook: _Zanesville--situate
On the stream Muskingum--broad and clear,
And navigable, through half the year,
North, to Coshocton; south, as far
As Marietta._--But these facts are
Not of the _story_, but the _scene_
Of the simple little tale I mean
To tell _directly_--from this, straight through
To the _end_ that is best worth listening to:

Eastward of Zanesville, two or three
Miles from the town, as our stage drove in,
I on the driver's seat, and he
Pointing out this and that to me,--
On beyond us--among the rest--
A grovey slope, and a fluttering throng
Of little children, which he 'guessed'
Was a picnic, as we caught their thin
High laughter, as we drove along,
Clearer and clearer. Then suddenly
He turned and asked, with a curious grin,
What were my views on _Slavery? 'Why?'_
I asked, in return, with a wary eye.
'Because,' he answered, pointing his whip
At a little, whitewashed house and shed
On the edge of the road by the grove ahead,--
'Because there are two slaves _there_,' he said--
'Two Black slaves that I've passed each trip
For eighteen years.--Though they've been set free,
They have been slaves ever since!' said he.
And, as our horses slowly drew
Nearer the little house in view,
All briefly I heard the history
Of this little old Negro woman and
Her husband, house and scrap of land;
How they were slaves and had been made free
By their dying master, years ago
In old Virginia; and then had come
North here into a _free_ state--so,
Safe forever, to found a home--

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!