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I didn't discover curves; I only uncovered them.

quote by Mae West
Added by Lucian Velea
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Curves

i love curves
like winding roads
that lull me
giving me such
needed rest
when i climb
mountain tops

for curves have
a way of making
things turn the
way they are not
and i marvel
about such
an intricacy
an art that winds
upon itself in
mystery, something

so profound
like what is that boa
hiding in its coils?
a pig? a goat?
a dog?
or a man?

curves heal
like a profound idea
entwining a man's mind
like a vine
delivering a yellow flower
to my lips

curves of a woman's body
like an argument that
wants to convince a stoical
and impartial jury

curves in my mind
not sharp not blunt not even piercing
but exaltingly stunning

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Discover The World In India

red vermillion streaked hair
a red wattled lapwing
orange, same time each day, sunrises and sunsets
yellow and black taxi colours, yellow temple flags, bright yellow confectionery shops, yellow bright fragrant perfume shops
green lush city pot plants, green lush country side
light blue warm skies, light blue cool cabs
indigo blue dupattas, turbans
navy blue trains, absence of starchy navy blue suits
sexy, pink, curved, massive majestic palaces, pink film posters
gold and glass chhum chhummy bangles
one purple TV happily watched by hundreds of labourers, purple crow sounds
gold chhum chhummy payals
white nehru jackets, pyjamas and kurtas, white cracking paint on grand old victorian buildings, white floor seating
_______
I discover

white clear eyes, white teeth behind white greetings
gold namastes
purple glee at fairs, purple glee when trying new technology and at receiving smallest of gifts
gold helping hands
many pink smiles
navy blue restful sleep on pavements, on roof terraces
indigo blue uniforms on giving railway porters
light blue singing on pavements, in big halls
limitless sincere green hospitality
endless yellow courtesy and welcomes
orange early morning school uniforms and school bags
an orange headed minla
red eyed hard working farmers and labourers
_______
the world

red rose petals in idol garlands, red rose petals at feet of idols
orange marigolds and sadhus, orange sacred cows
yellow rose petals in idol garlands, at feet of idols
a yellow eurasian golden eriole
green mango leaf awnings at entrances
light blue shiny clothes for deities, light blue ganges, light blue yamuna, light blue ceremonies
indigo blue in ancient temple and church paintings, indigo blue in contemporary art , indigo blue art and artists everywhere
navy blue backdropp in Shree Nathji's haveli
pink garlands on shiv lings, pink stained rice in flower formations on pooja tables
gold crowns for goddesses and gods
purple checks on worship lungis
gold ornaments on idols in gold temples, gold borders on worship saris
white churches, brahmins clad in white, stirring orators in white, ancient white stone sculptures and carvings
_____
in India

white barfi, white lassi, white raw and crunchy radishes
gold basundi, gold masala dosas, gold pani puris

[...] Read more

poem by Bhupen Thakker
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Measures of Sorrow

Fire surges across the uncovered plains of reflection:
water rolls along slowly
mirrowing measures of sorrow.
As my trembling body shakes of uttering sadnes
drawn onto my still plastered face...

Hopes as cold as the winter skies
brings out a smell of burning red coal;
oh cries measures of sorrow:
where has my path of happiness
led me?
Hopes flutter by with wings of desire.
Fire brings in warmth
and curls lone figures into -
balls of snow
hurling across the uncovered plains of reflection.

My kindered heart is broken
burned by the fire surge
across the uncovered plains of reflection -
love envelops me? !
takes me into the heart
of a lone person
and the balls of sorrow uncurl...

inflicting measures of sorrow?
Into measures of love?
Into the heart of the unknown sullen
world of fear combining love in its mind.

poem by Celine Berghmans
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Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover

That this old ground yields to plow stuns.

What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.

Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.

All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves
to unknotting surprise.

I am uncovered, thin, bared upon thinner sheets the man-
ripped to many images, torn into, landscaped to former curves.
No longer do I grieve enclosure, touching only myself,
delivered from layers.

Magpie dances.
Lines, veins, strung between Pole Star
and First River Mouth, an embedded ruin uncovered in milk floods.
Touch gently first what has been too long concealed.

Hard touch congeals once was telling mud remolded into
'Not again. Not yet the bleeding Centurion.'
Wield roughly then through gates too long shut.

When I cry out, do not mind. Blindly ram. Do not stop.

Magpie, my keeper, is flying.

poem by Warren Falcon
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Magpie, My Keeper, Is Flying - Upon Freeing the Gift of Creativity Turned Inward

.
for Elaine Bellezza, Beloved Anima-as-Fate

'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most...The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.' - May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

This afternoon while still somewhat hungover from last night's rich meal and several glasses of strong red wine, I stumbled as one does when hungover, only today without feet but with eyes, upon the above quote by May Sarton. I had awakened this morning with fragments of a dream, repetitive of other dreams the past few months, where I am carrying something precious and just cannot put it down in any old place or upon just any available surface. I cannot put it down until I find the right surface and location.

These dreams are full of torrential flood waters, or backed up, stagnant water, toilets full of filth and pungent bright orange dark urine days old and fermenting. I cannot unhand the burden even though the urge to pee or flee or drive a car away or into flood waters is strong. I must not put down the burden odd as it is; it is my laptop carrying case made of canvas. It is large enough to carry not only my laptop but also many books with which I cannot, will not be parted from as they are the must-have-with-me-always 'bread', my staple and stability in a given to me world out of balance.

I have understood the dreams only a little - something within the psyche is flooding up, over-spilling or has already, has not been adequately canalized, channeled, streamed and guided, shaped and formed. Or flushed. I knew that eventually, as dreams do when one sits consciously, patiently, persistently with them, they would yield their messages to me, and upon revelation these must be obeyed, brought out into the world, Carl Jung having said that one has a moral responsibility to dreams once they are kenned and must be conscientiously acted upon in the outer world. Just dreaming is not enough. Everyone dreams but not very many know to dream them out into the world, to let their messages unfurl, flood and flow to bring forth new consciousness, to reshape old forms no longer adequate to self, place and time into symbol and their sense, usually not literal.

And thus, only just now, upon opening up haphazardly in a book about Dostoevsky and his struggle with addictions which mirror the profound compulsion to create at any cost perhaps beyond one's capacities to renew oneself, I find May Sarton's quote and suddenly the dreams clarify and sharpen into focus; I understand them as the burden of creativity too long turned inward, the burden of writing, the burden of poetry which I have carried heavily for most of my life since middle school when I was 11 or 12 years old when books became my lifeline, my link to existence that I could live on in spite of not wanting to do so. Written words, books, kept me from disappearing though I was and remain a mostly invisible word.

And thus the floods. One cannot ignore them. Alphabets tumble and roil. One dare not ignore them. One must see them without a choice to not see them. In them I am suddenly made visible, bright orange p*ss pots and all. I am both appalled and pleased. My burden is upon my knees.

The backed up water, the urine, is creativity. A somewhat odd symbol of creativity, there is more than enough evidence that urination is symbolic of self expression which is creativity. In ancient Rome the highly valued dirt from the urinals of boys' schools was collected to be used as a cosmetic in order to restore youthful energy and looks. A young boy, or puer in Latin, is an archetypal symbol of ongoing creativity and inspiration, the puer aeternas, the eternal youth, well springs of ongoing creativity still imaged in solid fountains of the world where eternal waters flow from the peni of cherubic youth.

I have struggled my entire life with a strong urge to create, to write, to express in words that creative daemon within which torments no matter the completion of a poem or essay, a lecture, a psalm. And now my dreams have had me consciously, urgently seeking a place to put the burden down, to perhaps come to it anew. I imagine that landing the burden means bringing it down to earth, manifesting creativity all the more by bringing my efforts to others for the strongest part of the compulsive urge in my creativity has been to contribute one good thing, one good poem or piece of writing which in some way might further the culture even if only by a flea's leg length.

The dreams urge me to let the urine flow, to let the flood waters indeed flood over, to be less self conscious of what I write and say but to have at it all and to say my say. And to let whatever waves there are crest and break upon ever receptive banks and shores whose duty it is to allow what may come from motion without complaint, the more compliant toward as yet to be fully formed purposes as yet to be scored.

Synchronistically, a few days ago I listened to a lecture by poet Allen Ginsberg about Walt Whitman and his imitators, those who were goodly influenced by his effulgent, self indulgent style, his garrulous poems which presumed to express the very expansiveness of the North American continent over-flooded by a plague of itinerant, persistent poachers and prophets from Europe to Eastern disembarkation and then inland and Westward, compelled to overtake land and native peoples in their possessed, pushed wake. Ginsberg imagined himself to be a timely extension of this unruly school, as savage as the projected upon land and justly-resistant, resident humanity stretched beyond known bounds and sounds. Blood drowned and pounded the god-hounded land even now is flooded by unleashed mighty rivers seeking, if rivers seek at all, to undo and renew in horse shoe and other shapes the crimes of consciousness compelled to overtake while leaving it up to human souls to repent and repair, to prepare for more powerful insurgencies of land and Self ever seeking new and nower expressions of dirt and deity. There's enough history beneath layers to support the scarp and scrape of momentary yet monumental motions finally given mouths to utter what lies both beneath and within the heaping huzzahs of here here here full and deep. As in my dream, it is hard to steer in such surpassing tides and currents. Still, I am searching for holy campground that I may lay my burden down.

I have no wish to imitate Whitman nor Ginsberg - though both are easily imitated since they did so themselves, an occupational hazard for writers - but only to be obedient to the daemon, that urgent, emergent, creative force within. It rushes within and against me. No matter whether derived of the grandiose American continent and the even more grandiose sky or not, I have all too successfully braced against it in fear of failure, reprisal or, worse, complete indifference from others. My dreams now urge floods and resultant coagulations, they bring creative splurges to ground from hand to the hard world. And Nature, too, is indifferent but begs none the less and all the more to be given utterance and response.

Respondeo ergo sum. I respond, therefore I am. I respond, therefore the other, earth, all her ants, is as long as there are eyes, ears, and scanning minds to acknowledge and touch, wrestle, caress, shape - some in scansions - outer from inner, inner from outer, landscapes to be all too quickly discarded in time for what is sung just ahead. And seen. Or hoped, all praise to telescopes. We would be they, so addicted to horizons, to bring them close.

Something there is needs completion via coagulation, forming, shaping, and sharing with whomever may be open to clods delivered. If not, rivers will, as they will without reason, continue to overrun their banks and insist upon covering designated previous cultivations. Let then excess of creativity have its say, play out, and leave the critical post-considerations to others. I will surely sit and ponder spent what spills forth, to shape, to edit, to discard. And watch my little yard sink beneath needed and needy floods.

I will have done with deprivation and bring myself, what I have shaped and misshapen, to the world. These things, this burden, have I most loved and felt responsible for, have born the shame of. I have fought and have failed utterly again and again though my attempts have been, and still are, sincere though not blameless. Fear has been my encampment, a longing beneath knowing feet in secret cellars just beyond reach of contracted hands forever spelling hunger. I know open bastion doors and windows to now fling beyond embankments what has been wrung out of my floes and woes though hands wither from too much turning against and inward. What a relief to burst beyond boundaries too long successfully restraining.

I recently wrote a poem about much too too solid bastions of self, of forceful puer energy ramming through and over and into long buried storms and petrified forms, of passion mangling the delusion of 'norms' ignoring too sensitive alarms. Given May Sarton's May revelation this morning I now understand that the poem is about more than eros, it is about that powerful creative/destructive force, the daemon/tyro that ever urges outward intent on making and staking Self in new land and at least one aging man wrenched and rendered from dried and calcified encrustations. I am, to borrow from the insistent dream image, beginning to leak. And to break open.

Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover'

That this old ground yields to plow stuns.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.

Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.

All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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I remember now

I remember wanting it back

I remember all the boredom
I remember all the security
I remember holding myself back
I remember the want
I remember the denial

I remember getting it back

I discover all of the excitement
I discover all the new ways
I discover all the acceptance
I discover all of the interest
I discover all the greenest grass

I remember all of the dreams

I remember all the waiting
I remember all the uncertainty
I remember all the letting down
I remember what I ought not to have forgotten
I remember the limbo of my decisions

poem by Jack Cyclone
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Old Habits Die Hard

(graham lyle / terry britten)
Its my decision
You look my way
With innocent expression
Just as if to say
It would be easy
The mood is right
Forget for just one moment
Who we are tonight
I start
To weaken the musics strong
My conscience speaks, I know its wrong
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday
Give it up
Thats the way it starts
Discover old habits die hard
Temptation makes a fool out of us all
I made my mind up
It had to end
So why this indecision?
When youre close again
Oh, the thoughts appealing
I cant deny
With those old memories stealing
Back across my mind
I thought by now that the flame had gone
I realise that Im still holding on
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday, no
Give it up
Thats the way it starts
Discover old habits die hard
Temptation makes a fool out of us all, ooh, ooh, ooh
Ill just keep holding on
Its easier said than done
(old habits die hard)
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday, no
Give it up
Thats the way it starts
Discover old habits die hard
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday, no
Give it up
Thats the way it starts

[...] Read more

song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fate vs Destiny

To find your true happiness tempt fate to discover your destiny.
You must hearken back to when real happiness was known
Remember its impact on your life
Opportunity knocks, open the door, you will see it coming.
You may be surprised to discover fate can mask your destiny.

Your fate and your destiny are not one in the same.
Your fate is what you settle for in life.
What you take as your life marches on day by day, an obligation to life.
Destiny is the gate you find at the end of the path you blaze
As you strive to attain life’s goal open the gate and find love,
Happiness and contentment; true peace of heart and mind.

Fate may leave you at destiny’s gate at the end of life.
Knowing only the travails of your battles to achieve life’s goal
Knowing not the sweetness of your victories.
The gate may not be open, leaving you empty
At the end of life's journey.

The path to your destiny is yours and yours alone
Ask yourself whether you wish to settle for your fate or…
Tempt your fate and discover the path.
The dark side of life; fear and self doubt can blur and cover the path.
Not always seen in the clear; hidden in your memory
Or on the full plate before you the path is always there.

Those who have known the depth of their love, the strength of their spirit,
Will find a guiding light illuminates their path.
In these qualities of character you will discover your true self
And the key to unlock the gate.
You will recognize the guide of your light.
The choice is yours, settle for fate or follow the light,
Find the key, unlock the gate … discover your destiny.

poem by William J. Henderson Jr.
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Marriage and Love

Marriage gives life to love and love gives life to marriage.

In marriage, love means:
To know in your heart you were meant only for each-other.
To know that Heaven grew you apart and brought you together after the time you were meant to be molded to fit each-other.
To discover what it is to be best friends forever.
To discover what it is to love someone more than yourself.
To discover you are actually only a half and how much you need the other to be complete.
To discover the bonds that form when times get tough.
To discover how much more joy is multiplied when there is someone you love to share it with.
Each day is a day of discovery, a day to build your love, a day to make your bond stronger.

Marriage is:
To together choose one way, not one's own way.
To respect and honor with love the other over oneself or anyone else.
To compromise with each-other but never compromising each-other.
To know you are loved, wanted and needed whether you are fat or thin, well or ill, chirpy or grumpy.
To live life's summer, winter, autumn and spring always being there for one another.
To blend as one that over the years you feel as one and speak as one.
To be savored like wine, enriched by the passing of time.
To honor Marriage is to honor its Maker. To commit in marriage is to commit to its Maker.

poem by Dennisa Davidson
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Z. Comments

CRYSTAL GLOW

Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!

Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.

Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.

FRAGRANT JASMINE

Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.

I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU

Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell

Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.

I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU

Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.

Margaret Alice Comment:

'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'

Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!

IN CELESTIAL WINGS

Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.

Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.

'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'

Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.

RAGING FIRE

[...] Read more

poem by Praveen Kumar
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L A Inflatable

Oh well her skin it was softer than velvet
And her eyes were as bright as a childs
Her lips were a promising picture
Warm and celluloid
But her words had me thinkin too deeply
The meaning be-lying her face
Made me look just a little bit closer
Between the lines
L.a. smiles to hide the frown
L.a. promises to follow you down
L.a. teeth, and l.a. hair
L.a. curves that shouldnt be there
They really shouldnt be there
She said youve got to be seen at the roxy
The strippers will know who we are
But youve got to be seen to be happy
Youre a tinseltown star
Youre going upwards and downwards and sideways
Man youre really caught up in a dream
With your head burning under the starlight
From the studio scene
L.a. smiles to hide the frown
L.a. promises to follow you down
L.a. teeth, and l.a. hair
L.a. curves that shouldnt be there
They really shouldnt be there
L.a. inflatable, she never says no
L.a. insatiable, you dont have to go
L.a. charisma
Well she knows all the famous musicians
Sometimes she sees how they play
And when the back stage passes are going
She really knows how to pay
Shes a product of rock 'n roll livin
Shes a victim of hollywood hate
Shes a soul survivor
Shes the midnight special
Gonna lay you to waste
L.a. smiles to hide the frown
L.a. promises to follow you down
L.a. teeth, and l.a. hair
L.a. curves that shouldnt be there
They really shouldnt be there

song performed by 10 Cc
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Roxbury Garden

I

Hoops

Blue and pink sashes,
Criss-cross shoes,
Minna and Stella run out into the garden
To play at hoop.

Up and down the garden-paths they race,
In the yellow sunshine,
Each with a big round hoop
White as a stripped willow-wand.

Round and round turn the hoops,
Their diamond whiteness cleaving the yellow sunshine.
The gravel crunches and squeaks beneath them,
And a large pebble springs them into the air
To go whirling for a foot or two
Before they touch the earth again
In a series of little jumps.

Spring, Hoops!
Spit out a shower of blue and white brightness.
The little criss-cross shoes twinkle behind you,
The pink and blue sashes flutter like flags,
The hoop-sticks are ready to beat you.
Turn, turn, Hoops! In the yellow sunshine.
Turn your stripped willow whiteness
Along the smooth paths.

Stella sings:
'Round and round, rolls my hoop,
Scarcely touching the ground,
With a swoop,
And a bound,
Round and round.
With a bumpety, crunching, scattering sound,
Down the garden it flies;
In our eyes
The sun lies.
See it spin
Out and in;
Through the paths it goes whirling,
About the beds curling.
Sway now to the loop,
Faster, faster, my hoop.
Round you come,
Up you come,
Quick and straight as before.

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Make It Clap (remix)

[Sean Paul]
We make it clap, we make it clap (Huh!)
Yeah yeah yeah (Flipmode!!!) Busta Rhymes (Busta Rhymes!)
Sean-A-Paul (Sean Paul!)
One more time (Ha!) kill 'em with a rhyme (Huh!)
Remix time (remix!) a Dutty yeah, yo, Spliff Star (Spliff!)
Flipmode Squad (Ha!) we kill 'em with a rhyme, a dutty yeah
[Busta Rhymes]
Cau mi seh jump up clap oonu hand and siddung get up
And mi nah wig out mek everybody flip out oonu fi carry on
To get tired I waan chillout, all a di gal a sweat out
Mek your body keep clappin on
[Sean Paul]
Flipmode a roll wid all di hottest set a gal dem inna di dance
And Dutty Cup we deyah mek di gal dem jump up and prance
Busta Rhymes and Sean-A-Paul di lyrical magician
There fi mek dem switch and jump up wave up dem hands
Flipmode a roll wid all di hottest set a gal dem inna di dance
And Dutty Cup we deyah mek di gal dem jump up and prance
Busta Rhymes and Sean-A-Paul di lyrical magician
There fi mek dem switch and jump up wave up dem hands, so push it up deh
[Busta Rhymes]
Back with the remix with Spliff and Sean-A-Paul on the corner
Can't believe when we do it we smack it down how we wanna
Keepin it comin keepin it goin cause we ain't playin
I'm talkin to all my people cause what I'm sayin is
[Busta Rhymes]
In case you ain't know and in case you ain't heard
And if you want us to set it just give me the word
This one goes out to my soldiers that be flippin them birds
To all my shorties wigglin they shakin they curves
[Sean Paul]
We make it clap,
We make it clap,
We make it clap,
We make it clap
[Spliff Star]
Poor snapper, lookin at shorty shakin it and makin it clap
Booty big pokin out like twenties on the lap
When I give it to her shorty know how to throw it back
Booty bangin to the beat sometimes we overlap-sing
Gal peel out your blouse and your tight-jeans
Let me lick you down dip you with some ice-cream
Gal holla holla my name when I slide-in
Thunderstorm, rain, sleet and light-ning
Hold me tight feel the triniman grin-ding and grin-ding and grin-ding
Gal dip and bounce start whin-ning
You see Spliff, Sean Paul and Busta Rhymes, seen
(We got dough) You could tell by what we dri-ving
(Lookin to chose) How it's different and blin-ding

[...] Read more

song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Axe-Helve

I've known ere now an interfering branch
Of alder catch my lifted axe behind me.
But that was in the woods, to hold my hand
From striking at another alder's roots,
And that was, as I say, an alder branch.
This was a man, Baptiste, who stole one day
Behind me on the snow in my own yard
Where I was working at the chopping block,
And cutting nothing not cut down already.
He caught my axe expertly on the rise,
When all my strength put forth was in his favor,
Held it a moment where it was, to calm me,
Then took it from me - and I let him take it.
I didn't know him well enough to know
What it was all about. There might be something
He had in mind to say to a bad neighbour
He might prefer to say to him disarmed.
But all he had to tell me in French-English
Was what he thought of- not me, but my axe;
Me only as I took my axe to heart.
It was the bad axe-helve some one had sold me -
'Made on machine,' he said, ploughing the grain
With a thick thumbnail to show how it ran
Across the handle's long, drawn serpentine,
Like the two strokes across a dollar sign.
'You give her 'one good crack, she's snap raght off.
Den where's your hax-ead flying t'rough de hair?'
Admitted; and yet, what was that to him?
'Come on my house and I put you one in
What's las' awhile - good hick'ry what's grow crooked,
De second growt' I cut myself-tough, tough!'

Something to sell? That wasn't how it sounded.

'Den when you say you come? It's cost you nothing.
To-naght?'

As well to-night as any night.

Beyond an over-warmth of kitchen stove
My welcome differed from no other welcome.
Baptiste knew best why I was where I was.
So long as he would leave enough unsaid,
I shouldn't mind his being overjoyed
(If overjoyed he was) at having got me
Where I must judge if what he knew about an axe
That not everybody else knew was to count
For nothing in the measure of a neighbour.
Hard if, though cast away for life with Yankees,
A Frenchman couldn't get his human rating.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Frost
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Changing Times

Beloyd taylor
As you discover changing times
You must have the strength to endure
As you discover changing world
You cant be guessing, you must be for sure
In these ever changing times
You must learn to stand up on your own
Life has so much to show you
You must be ready for the new
Space on the strife, fix up your life
Space on the strife, fix up your life
As you discover changing times
Its not so bad as you will find
As you discover changing world
A new direction you must keep in mind
Life has so much to show you
You must be ready for the new
Space on the strife, fix up your life
Space on the strife, fix up your life
We go through so many changes
As we learn to grow

song performed by Earth Wind And Fire
Added by Lucian Velea
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Anything Now

And whether you want it
Or whether you hate it
And try to battle it out
Someday you may just come to discover
It was all for the best
The change has come, maybe a second chance
Anything now could be there for you
But whether you want it
Or whether you hate it
Nothing will ever be quite the same again
Everything is in it's place
I know my limitations
I don't want to change a thing
I know that I can live with them
Why should I care?
But then sometimes right out of the blue
News on the radio
Words on the telephone
Suddenly change everything
Nothing's quite what it seems
And whether you want it
Or whether you hate it
And try to battle it out
Someday you may just come to discover
It was all for the best
The change has come, maybe a second chance
Anything now could be there for you
But whether you want it
Or whether you hate it
Nothing will ever be quite the same again
I got my lines, I got a part to play
I don't want to be surprised
I like to plan from day to day
Why should I care?
But then sometimes right out of the blue
News on the radio
Words on the telephone
Suddenly change everything
Nothing's quite what it seems
And whether you want it
Or whether you hate it
And try to battle it out
Someday you may just come to discover
It was all for the best
The change has come, maybe a second chance
Anything now could be there for you
But whether you want it
Or whether you hate it
Nothing will ever be quite the same again
--------

[...] Read more

song performed by Genesis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ponies

This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the different directions album, and has also been released on the gift you are and the john denver collection - take me home, country
S albums.
Somewhere out on the prairie
Is the greatest cowboy thats ever been
And when he lays his hands upon the ponies
They shudder with an understanding skin
And he says ponies
Now ponies dont you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
When the storm clouds in the west
Are quickly gathering
The ponies they run wild there
Before it rains
Youll see their sleek dark bodies
Brightly gleaming
You know the fire is flying through
Their brains
And he says ponies
Now ponies dont you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
And he says ponies
Now ponies dont you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
And he says ponies
Ponies dont you worry
I have not come to steal your fire away
I want to fly with you across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day
I want to fly
Words and music by jeffrey bullock

song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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Inside My Head

Every time you think of me like your goddamn trophy
It just pushes me away
Pushes me away
I never said that I'd make you mine
Why do you insist on pushing all the time
I know it's not my vivid imagination
Telling you lies
Telling you lies
It's funny how you found the time
To expose yourself and be another one of these
Psychos all around me
Psychos all around me
Like to say my head's not right
My head's not right
Medicated aren't we all
Turning into you
Got me crazed with what you do
Inside my head there's a vision of you
And nothing's changing
Nothing's changing
I want to run away
And you says it's alright
I want to run away
Walk away
Just go
I think you're pushing, pushing
To seek and discover to notice you're different than all the rest
Kepp telling me to ask why
Would it really hurt you to leave me alone sometimes
To seek and discover your genius uncovered
Your pain
Nothing's changing
Nothing's changing
Medicated aren't we all
Turn me into you
Got me crazed with what you do
Inside my head there's a vision of you
And nothing's changing
Nothing's changing
I want to run away
And you says it's alright
I want to run away
Pushing me away
Pushing me away
Pushing me away
Pushing me, pushing me
Pushing me
Medicated aren't we all
Turning into you
Got me crazed with what you do

[...] Read more

song performed by Orgy
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Theft

You've discovered my weakness; uncovered my flaw
Yet, you never bore witness to your breaking the law.
It must have been taken with your books one day.
My heart, now your possession, you took it away.
I tried to retrieve it; though I never begged.
So many games were played with my love-stricken  head.
I was never compensated, so I have come to ask-
May I please at least have what's left of it back?
You never gave yours- I say you broke the law
when you stole my heart and uncovered my flaws. 

poem by J.R. Tinoco
Added by Poetry Lover
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I Have No Time, Can I Touch 'it' Just One Last Time..?

yes
so it is
It is so pink
how can i find my way in
it is only uncovered for its modesty
it beats within a hurried warmth inside you
inside i feel you try the boundaries
it is uncovered now today
it is so pink
it is so
hot
is it
you
pinker
winkers
richer....................................... ......................

poem by Is It Poetry
Added by Poetry Lover
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