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Only grown-ups have difficulty with childproof bottles.

quote by Joe Moore
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Twelve Days of Christmas – Walking

One fall while walking a path beside the Snake River I spotted a baby's pacifier hanging on a tree limb just over our heads. It caused me to start singing these words to the 12 Days of Christmas tune.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me
A pacifier in a bare tree

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles

[...] Read more

poem by James L. A. Huetson
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Crack in their bottles

CRACK IN THEIR BOTTLES

Go ahead, feed your children crack in their bottles
fill up their heads with useless lies
start when they're young
tell them aloud, 'everyone is equal, unique in their own way'
whisper quietly insults full of hate.
go ahead, fill up their heads with these lies

Go ahead, feed your children crack in their bottles
feed them pills with their juice
tell them aloud, 'these will calm you down.'
whisper quietly, 'so I don’t have to deal with you'
Go ahead, fill up their heads with these useless lies
then wonder where you went wrong.

Go ahead, feed your children crack in their bottles
fill up their heads with useless lies
tell them, it doesn’t matter how they look
but slip them diet pills behind their back
go ahead, fill up their heads with these useless lies
then wonder why they are depressed.

Go ahead, feed your children crack in their bottles
fill up their heads with useless lies
tell them aloud you love them no matter what they do
whisper quietly that you never wanted them
go ahead, fill up their heads with these useless lies
then wonder what you did wrong.

So go ahead, feed your children crack in their bottles
fill up their heads with useless lies
but I’ll sit back and wonder why
what’s so wrong with the truth?

I’ll feed your children love in their bottles
tell them they're special everyday
show them I mean it with a hug and a kiss
and try to fix what you’ve done wrong

I’ll feed your children laughter in their bottles
tell them aloud 'everyone’s unique'
and whisper quietly the exact same thing
I’ll go ahead and feed your children the truth
trying to undo what you have done.

I'll feed your children confidence in their bottles
tell them aloud how special they are
hug them when they act their worst
and whisper quietly that they're the best

[...] Read more

poem by Liz Colavecchio
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Soccer Rollback

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Home Grown Tomatoes

There aint nothin in the world that I like better than bacon n lettuce n
Home grown tomatoes up in the mornin, out in the garden
Get you a ripe one, dont pick a hard un plant em in the spring, eat em in
The summer all winter without em is a culinary bummer I forget all about the
Sweatinand the digginevery time I go out and pick me a big un home grown
Tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown
Tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes you can go out to eat an thats for
Sure but theres nothina home grown tomatoe wont cure put em in a salad, put
em in a stew
You can make your own tomatoe juice
You can eat em with eggs, eat em with gravy you can eat em with beans, pinto
Or navy put em on the side, put em in the middle home grown tomatoes on a hot
Cake griddle home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like
Without home grown tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes if is to change this life I lead
You could call me johnny tomatoe seed
cause I know what this country needs
Home grown tomatoes in every yard you see when I die dont bury me
In a box in a cold dark cemetery
Out in the garden would be much better
cause I could be pushin up a home grown tomatoe home grown tomatoes, home
Grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown tomatoes only two
Things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes
Words and music by guy clark

song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Evenings Young

The evenings young
The night began
Between the bottles in a mirror
Im smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
Bottles on the shelf
Evenings young
The night began
Barman brings another beer
Could ask myself
Why am I here
Between the bottles in a mirror
Smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I wait for me and my decision
Between the bottles thats my face
Tv shows a football game
I leave the place but all the same
If someone asked me hey guy you
Where do you go, what do you do?
I wouldnt know what I could say

song performed by Yello
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Evenings Young

The evenings young
The night began
Between the bottles in a mirror
Im smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
Bottles on the shelf
Evenings young
The night began
Barman brings another beer
Could ask myself
Why am I here
Between the bottles in a mirror
Smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I wait for me and my decision
Between the bottles thats my face
Tv shows a football game
I leave the place but all the same
If someone asked me hey guy you
Where do you go, what do you do?
I wouldnt know what I could say

song performed by Yello
Added by Lucian Velea
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When Youre Near Me I Have Difficulty

When youre near me I have difficulty respirating
When youre near me I have difficulty concentrating
When youre near me I have difficulty standing upright
When youre near me I have difficulty sleeping at night
I used to stand proud like a sphinx
In a noble immovable state
Then your heart nailed me under a jinx
Now Im feeling like a jellyfish
Just a spineless wobbly jellyfish
And its great, great, so great
I used to stand high like a pine
Just a piece of emotionless wood
When you put your body near mine
Now Im feeling like a jellyfish
And its good, good, so good
I used to be an iceman
Living in iceman town
So Im warning all you cool cool icemen
Youd better be prepared to be melted right down
Down
When youre near me I have difficulty

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bottles And Diapers

Bottles and diapers soon I will have to have
When this baby will come
It will be a necessity for this baby
I will have to have plenty of bottles and diapers around
Because they run out fast specially the diapers
I don’t want to run out of the diapers when the baby is around
Bottles and diapers have to be around where I can reach
Bottles and diapers the baby will use it every day
Until he is a child
And when he gets to be a child
I won’t have to worry about bottles and diapers again

poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Vantage Point Of Their Lonely Studios

Bottles hidden under couches which turn out
To be beds:
Bottles on top of red cement, bottles spinning
Burning with questions:
Bottles the answer to this;
My face bleared with roses and abandoned highways,
And cars abandoned,
And forts except for their mad soldier blooming fireworks:
And Kellies are in the sky,
Rippling as if with banners of all her men,
The kaleidoscope of her delinquent theatre, the rosaries
Of her body’s tattoo;
And I am fully scarred and pretty, and I think of her,
Because I have nothing left in who I am:
And she sees her children as dolphins swimming beneath her,
Swimming through the immense greenness of this underage
Garden,
Going towards the sounds of dinner, like bottles spinning
Attune to the whistling of such an immense foreclosure;
For when her eyes are closed, everything is going to
Shut down,
And the parks disappear under the stipulation of her closing
Heirs,
And her perfumes leave us just as transfixed as bachelors
Staring down at the beautiful lesbians who are playing just like
The pinkest otters from the vantage point of their lonely
Studios.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Several oranges

At what age does the recognition dawn
that grown-ups aren’t quite as bright
as they would like – and would like you –
to think?

An early proof among the many
was marmalade – the stuff best tasted
when licked off the marmalade spoon, or
if Mom tried to make it (big wooden spoon) or
scraped off stodge pudden at your school…

and best, the one that came in brown stone jars
because that was cheaper; lettered in black
to say it came from Keiller’s; and was made
from several oranges, so grown-ups said…

well, how obvious can you get? A big stone jar
or even a glass jar, was bigger than a single orange..

and couldn’t grown-ups spell either?
Their later proffered excuse was to be just as phoney –
How could all that marmalade
come from just one town which the Jogrufy mistress
said was somewhere in Spain?

Yet another reason to add to your growing decision
never to be a grown-up… so sadly over-rated…

poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Bronzeville Mother Loiters in Mississippi. Meanwhile, a Mississippi Mother burns bacon

From the first it had been like a
Ballad. It had the beat inevitable. It had the blood.
A wildness cut up, and tied in little bunches,
Like the four-line stanzas of the ballads she had never quite
understood--the ballads they had set her to, in school.

Herself: the milk-white maid, the "maid mild"
Of the ballad. Pursued
By the Dark Villain. Rescued by the Fine Prince.
The Happiness-Ever-After.
That was worth anything.
It was good to be a "maid mild."
That made the breath go fast.

Her bacon burned. She
Hastened to hide it in the step-on can, and
Drew more strips from the meat case. The eggs and sour-milk biscuits
Did well. She set out a jar
Of her new quince preserve.

. . . But there was something about the matter of the Dark Villain.
He should have been older, perhaps.
The hacking down of a villain was more fun to think about
When his menace possessed undisputed breath, undisputed height,
And best of all, when history was cluttered
With the bones of many eaten knights and princesses.

The fun was disturbed, then all but nullified
When the Dark Villain was a blackish child
Of Fourteen, with eyes still too young to be dirty,
And a mouth too young to have lost every reminder
Of its infant softness.

That boy must have been surprised! For
These were grown-ups. Grown-ups were supposed to be wise.
And the Fine Prince--and that other--so tall, so broad, so
Grown! Perhaps the boy had never guessed
That the trouble with grown-ups was that under the magnificent shell of adulthood, just under,
Waited the baby full of tantrums.
It occurred to her that there may have been something
Ridiculous to the picture of the Fine Prince
Rushing (rich with the breadth and height and
Mature solidness whose lack, in the Dark Villain, was impressing her,
Confronting her more and more as this first day after the trial
And acquittal (wore on) rushing

[...] Read more

poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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Paradise Lost: Book 02

High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence; and, from despair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught,
His proud imaginations thus displayed:--
"Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!--
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen,
I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent
Celestial Virtues rising will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate!--
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,
Did first create your leader--next, free choice
With what besides in council or in fight
Hath been achieved of merit--yet this loss,
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more
Established in a safe, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there
From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell
Precedence; none whose portion is so small
Of present pain that with ambitious mind
Will covet more! With this advantage, then,
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heaven, we now return
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assured us; and by what best way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate. Who can advise may speak."
He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up--the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with th' Eternal to be deemed
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:--

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Pooh Bear and CR Discuss Truth

Wol’s nephew had found a piece of torn paper in the Wood, which said ‘Truth is…’ and took it back, rather wet and smudgy, to Wol.

Word got around that Wol’s nephew, who was learning to read, had asked Wol what came next… However, most of the Animals were not very interested, as they went about their busy lives.

But Pooh Bear, who’d heard CR use the word about A Certain Incident, was walking paw in hand with CR through the wood one crispy day, and because there weren’t any other Big Thoughts floating around saying ‘Look at me! ’, said ‘CR, what is truth? ’

Christopher Robin looked down lovingly at Beloved Bear, like you do when you admire someone for asking a Big Question, but aren’t sure quite what to say next…

‘Well, Pooh, ’ he said at last, ‘there’s truth with a small t – like when somehow a plate has jumped out of your hands onto the floor and broken itself, and grown-ups don’t quite believe this, and say, tell me the truth…’

Pooh recognised this. Hunny jars did the same thing sometimes, when you reach for them on the shelf and wonder why they wanted to fall like that…

‘And there’s Truth with a capital T, that grown-ups put on their best clothes and sit around, with a cup or glass of something, and talk about... but without dropping their cup or glass or anything…’

Pooh had never sat around when this happened. That was the time for being with CR upstairs.

‘It’s difficult to follow what they say, so I watch their faces, Pooh..

‘There’s Nodding Their Heads Truth. There’s Smiling But Only a Bit and Not for Long Truth. There’s Eyes Open Wide Truth. There’s Being Very Still For a Time Truth. And there’s Nodding And Smiling With the Eyes Too And Remembering, Truth…There seem to be diff’rent kinds of Truth, Pooh…’

Pooh suddenly felt very five-to-fourish after so much about grown-ups and their complicated lives, so he and CR turned and walked back in silence.

Later after a Little Something, Pooh stood in front of the big mirror in CR’s nursery, and tried on all these Faces of Truth.. feeling, well maybe, and yes possibly, and wait until tomorrow, by turns.. and then, he felt really quite tired…

Christopher Robin picked him up; saying fondly, 'Silly old Bear...'

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Two More Bottles Of Wine

(delbert mcclinton)
We came out west together with a common desire
The fever we had might-a set the west coast on fire
Two months later got a troublin mind
cause my baby moved out and left me behind
But its all right cause its midnight and I got two more bottles of wine
Well, the way he left sure turned my head around
Seemed like over night he just up and put me down
Aint gonna let it bother me today
cause Ive been workin and Im too tired anyway
But its all right cause its midnight and I got two more bottles of wine
Well, Im sixteen hundred miles from the people I know
Ive been doin what I can but opportunity sure comes slow
Thought Id be a big star by today
But Ive been sleepin in a warehouse in west l.a.
But its all right cause its midnight and I got two more bottles of wine
Yes, its all right cause its midnight and I got two more bottles of wine

song performed by Martina Mcbride
Added by Lucian Velea
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Beloved Porcupine

Doe not betraye thy beloved porcupine,
Confirmed it is; earth turns around a critter,
thee were bacchic, sipping bottles o' wine.

How could thee misbehave to a crit benign?
sly vulturettes desired the round flitter,
Doe not betraye thy beloved porcupine.

Now who will stand on supermarket line?
guilty thou art, dishonored and quitter,
thee were bacchic, sipping bottles o' wine.

Thou shalt nought mistreat a love so divine
In slopes thy porcupine will slide 'n' skitter,
Doe not betraye thy beloved porcupine

Thy porcupine cared for Italian, to dine;
In poem verses betwixt, embraced emitter,
thee were bacchic, sipping bottles o' wine.

Stirring thy mind, inspired poesy, Einstein,
perceptive kind, critter wisdom, on twitter
Doe not betraye thy beloved porcupine
thee were bacchic, sipping bottles o' wine.

A pentameter humorous Villanelle.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Feelings From a Bottle

Feelings from a bottle
Thats what he used to say
I get my feelings from a bottle
Every night and every day

They used to make you happy
The feelings that you had
But since you have lost everyone
The bottles make you sad?

Why don't you throw the bottles?
Just chuck them in the bin
He'd look at me with a deep sadness
Because I know I will give in.

No you wont, I used to say
Your strong like superman.
He picked up another bottle and said
Honey, I don't think I can.

So I would watch him and the bottles
Of feelings, sadness and hate
I would hide away and cry
Because the feelings would graduate

And then one night he decided
That he should take a drive
Too many bottles of feelings
He had a car accident, and he died.

poem by Anonymus Girl
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Recipe To Care For Someone With HIV/AIDS

Ingredients
3 cups of patience
5 pounds of compassion
7 packets of gentleness
3 bottles of kindness
5 jars of humor
7 packets of smiles
3 bottles of calmness
3 pounds of humility
5 bottles of mercy
7 jars of peace
3 cups of sensitivity
5 packets of joy
7 pounds of forgiveness
3 bottles of knowledge about the HIV/AIDS Virus
Gallons of love and gallons of prayer
Method
Take knowledge, humility and sensitivity and mix well.
Stir in kindness, forgiveness and patience, very slowly.
Whip in gentleness, calmness and joy. Blend with mercy, peace
and compassion. Then add smiles and humor whenever needed.
Pour in as much love as possible, taste the care then add toppings
of prayer and serve as desired to anyone with HIV/AIDS.

poem by Cedil C. Booker
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Grown Men Dont Cry

(steve seskin, tom douglas)
I pulled into the shopping center
And saw a little boy wrapped around the legs of his mother
Like ice cream melting they embraced
Years of bad decisions runnin down her face
All mornin Id been thinkin my lifes so hard
And they wore everything they own, livin in a car
I wanted to tell him it would be ok
But I got just got in my suburban and I drove away
But I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
Keep having this dream about my old man
Im 10 years old, and hes holding my hand
Were talkin on the front porch watchin the sun go down
But it was just a dream he was a slave to his job and he couldnt be around
So many things I wanna say to him
But I just placed a rose on his grave, and I talk to the wind
But I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry, dont cry
Im sittin here with my kids and my wife
And everything that I hold dear in my life
We say grace and thank the lord
Got so much to be thankful for
Then its up the stairs and off to bed and my little girl says
I havent had my story yet.
And everything weighin on my mind disappears just like that
When she lifts her head off her pillow and says,
I love you dad
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
And I dont know why they say grown men dont cry
I dont know why they say grown men dont cry, dont cry

song performed by Tim McGraw
Added by Lucian Velea
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