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He leaned about the same way in falling towards Jacqueline, forward, down towards the bottom of the car.

quote by Abraham Zapruder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Feelin The Same Way

The sun just slipped its note below my door
And I cant hide beneath my sheets
Ive read the words before so now I know
The time has come again for me
And Im feelin the same way all over again
Feelin the same way all over again
Singin the same lines all over again
No matter how much I pretend
Another day that I cant find my head
My feet dont look like theyre my own
Ill try and find the floor below to stand
And I hope I reach it once again
And Im feelin the same way...

song performed by Norah Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Have You Thought About The Way

Have you thought about the way
So many people live today
They drown their fears in wine and dope
And uppers they say give them hope
And downers help them to be mellow
But turn around their backs is yellow
Some can’t make it through the day
Without popping pills they say
Can’t you see you silly fool
Getting high is the thing to do
It makes you more aware they say
This magic drug for which they pay
But now they’re down and life is tough
The magic drug is not enough

poem by Paizli Palmrose
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Feelin' The Same Way

The sun just slipped its note below my door
And I can't hide beneath my sheets
I've read the words before so now I know
The time has come again for me

And I'm feelin' the same way all over again
Feelin' the same way all over again
Singin' the same lines all over again
No matter how much I pretend

Another day that I can't find my head
My feet don't look like they're my own
I'll try and find the floor below to stand
And I hope I reach it once again

And I'm feelin' the same way...

song performed by Norah Jones from Come Away With Me
Added by Lucian Velea
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Just The Same Way

Yesterday was a good day,
Its after midnight and Ive got you on my mind.
Come with me never go away,
Every day we will fly, yeah.
Thats the same way you love me. (thats the same way she loves you).
Ooo, just the same way you do. (just the same way you do).
Just the same way you love me. (just the same way she...)
Loves.
Take a chance now the timings right.
Youre free to leave the key to my life.
Stay with me.
Wont you stay the night,
In the mornin feelin fine, yeah.
(chorus)
Oh, no, you should be holdin on to him girl.
Oh, yeah just like, just like you want to do.
Oh, no, just love and squeeze him girl.
Oh, yeah just love and squeeze him yeah.
(chorus)

song performed by Journey
Added by Lucian Velea
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What About The Moonlight

Telling me you dont want to be here
Had enough of life
I see your shoulders falling down the mountain
You once loved to climb
Dont you want to talk about it
Well saying theres no life left inside of you
Chorus:
What about your loves
What about your dreams
What about the chanced to borrow dreams
What about the moonlight
What about the way you sign
When it touches you
On your knees in the teeth of failure
Its got you gag and bond
You say its killing you
Well listen now Im telling you
Your better days are to come
Set your sights on simple beauty
Like the way my eyes shine
When Im around you
Chorus
Nobody said it would be easy
To take a fall and stand
Just wrap your arms tight around me
And well stumble together
Until we learn to dance
Chorus

song performed by Cher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Moaning about the Weather

The sky above is grim and grey;
They say that snow is on its way
But first, the frost will kill the flowers
And rain will pour for hours and hours
Just when we have to walk the dog.
Then planes get grounded by the fog
And after that come wind and gales
And hail and sleet on hills and dales.

The British weather, we complain,
So changeable, is such a pain.
We long for sultry summer sun
But then, again, there's not much fun
When there's too much and we get drought
That's something to complain about
And sunburn, sunstroke, water rations
Start to be the latest fashion.

I wonder if we Brits will ever
Cease to whinge about the weather
But it would really spoil the game
If every day were just the same;
We wouldn't have a chance to moan
And grouse and grumble, gripe and groan.
It's almost like our National sport
To curse the weather; there's a thought!

poem by C. Richard Miles
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The Same Way I Do

Written by John Mellencamp
Before you go to sleep
And close your eyes
I'd like to kiss you
One more time
Touch your lips
Perhaps your soul
I'll be still and say no more
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
Well the night was sweet
You filled the air
Your gentle hands touched me everywhere
I don't want this moment to end
I'm afraid that we can't find it again
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
The fragile bond
Between us here
Would take to build, a thousand years
Before you close your eyes
Just one more kiss
A million years before we feel like this
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
How can I trust my feelings
In a moment that's always changing
Tell me do you feel the same way I do
The same way I do
Hey do you feel
Yea do you feel
Hey do you feel
The same way I do

song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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Do You Feel the Same Way Too?

I’ve just written to a friend and said

‘I’ve just written a poem
which I would have given my life
to have written.’…

and then sat and looked at
what I’d written –
wondering whether
that was what I really meant..

(and, faintly, contemplating
whether a thunderbolt
straight from Justice central
might strike me there and then…)

or whether I’d retreated into
some private world of self-delusion..

or whether I had reached the height
of mortal bliss.. as perhaps some ‘real’ poet might…
when on the scales of life-for-life
or perhaps, eternity,
I was offering humbly, in exchange
for all I have received, all
that my soul could offer…

discarding all the burdens of the past,
disregarding any thoughts of future life,
living in the present, like a child does,
as, glorious, the present presently moves on
from freedom into freedom… tell me,

do you feel the same way too?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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He Asked about the Quality

He left the office where he'd been given
a trivial, poorly paid job
(something like eight pounds a month, including bonuses)
left at the end of the dreary work
that kept him bent all afternoon,
came out at seven and walked off slowly,
idling his way down the street. Good-looking,
and interesting: showing as he did that he'd reached
his full sensual capacity.
He'd turned twenty-nine the month before.
He idled his way down the main street
and the poor side-streets that led to his home.
Passing in front of a small shop that sold
cheap and flimsy merchandise for workers,
he saw a face inside, a figure
that compelled him to go in, and he pretended
he wanted to look at some coloured handkerchiefs.
He asked about the quality of the handkerchiefs
and how much they cost, his voice choking,
almost silenced by desire.
And the answers came back in the same mood,
distracted, the voice hushed,
offering hidden consent.
They kept on talking about the merchandise
but the only purpose: that their hands might touch
over the handkerchiefs, that their faces, their lips,
might move close together as though by chance
a moment's meeting of limb against limb.
Quickly, secretly, so the shop owner sitting at the back
wouldn't realize what was going on.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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There's Something Sexy About The Rain

She spread her arms and spun around
In a summer island storm
In a field of sugarcane
She taught me how and showed me why
There's something sexy about the rain
And sometimes it rained all night
And everything she did was perfect
And every way we were was right
We loved like there was no tomorrow
Then suddenly tomorrow came
And it was raining at the airport
And kept on raining on the plane
She only loved me for a season
But my heart won't ever be the same
Even now her love's the reason
There's something sexy about the rain
And sometimes when it's pouring down
I feel her kisses on my skin
I spread my arms and spin around
And let that summer island storm
Hit me like a hurricane
It's like she's right here whispering
There's something sexy about the rain
She followed me back to the city
In a picture in my mind
She's still young and she's still pretty
And even after all this time
There's something sexy about the rain
She said as it came pouring down
It feels like kisses on my skin
She spread her arms and spun around
In a summer island storm
In a field, in a field of sugarcane
She taught me how and showed me why
There's something sexy about the rain
She taught me how and she's still why
There's something sexy about the rain
Something sexy about the rain
Feels like kisses on my skin
In a summer island storm

song performed by Kenny Chesney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Yet Another Poem About The Poet And The Poem

Yet another poem about the poet and the poem
Another self- reflexive indulgence in idle self- definition-
While the real world and the real poetry
Go on in their own way-

As if this poem and this poet
Do not know how
To Exist.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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What I Love Most About The Truth

What I love most about the truth,
Is the way it treats deceivers.
And how it exposes those who lie.
As if to do it with a clinical blatantness.
With no regard for those,
Making excuses with trite apologies.
I can see why so many are afraid of it.
It doesn't tease like evil does.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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More Stories About the End

You don't understand the future!
So, why should i discuss it with you?
For life is not always the way you do see things around.

The sad thing is,
You always go to Church on Sundays with your Bible;
But you've never opened it to read it yourself!
For, there are more stories about the end written inside it.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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About The Priorities Some Set

Involved in an activity,
Specifically because of a promised fee...
Says a lot about the priorities some set,
To reflect their thought process and purpose.

People motivated to do a deed because of money,
Are satisfied to accomplish one thing...
A quick way to notoriety,
With a hope someone will connect this to a talent.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Write About The Butterfly

'I write about the butterfly,
It is a pretty thing;
And flies about like the birds,
But it does not sing.

'First it is a little grub,
And then it is a nice yellow cocoon,
And then the butterfly
Eats its way out soon.

'They live on dew and honey,
They do not have any hive,
They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets,
And to be as good as they are we should strive.

poem by Louisa May Alcott
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I Know Nothing About The Rain (With Apologies To T.S. Elliott,9/1/11)

Do you still love me, she asks
fragile moment, simple words
Fear and longing mingled like our breaths
hanging precariously in the air

People talk about the weather
To fill the savage spaces
Empty Silence, empty words
And we talk about the weather
What can I say
What do I know of the weather
Falling gently, scattered drops
What do I know of the rain

Do you still love me, she asks
In the interval between
What do I know of love
Falling gently, scattered drops

And in the rooms the women light as a feather
stand around talking about the weather
And I don't really know what to say
I know nothing about the rain

poem by Ryan Cole
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Knowing Little About The 'Art' of Work

First it was stated,
He lacked the experience.
Although the people had confidence in him.
And he became President.

Now the losers declare,
He has too much on his plate.
Too much at once for him to contemplate.
Although he is able to do that...
With more chores in store.

They can not keep up with his effective pace!
With complaints.
But no one has said he is incompetent.
And they wonder how he does it.
As they sit,
Like most lazy couch potatoes do.
Fuming and giving lip service,
About how things should be done.
Yet doing nothing themselves,
As is their custom and way of life to bicker,
And feed on snacks to entertain assorted whims.
Knowing little about the 'art' of work!
And how that is applied to accomplishment.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There is something special about the sun

At six o’clock the sun blinded me
in Soutpansberg avenue
and I opened the helmet’s visor
to find a way to see.

Still it’s great to ride
in the early morning with the motorbike
and to see something of the greatness
of God’s creation.

There’s something special about the sun
in a blue sky,
if it hangs like a red ball,
or even if it blinding catches your eyes.

The fresh wind that cut past
and at times pulls
as if it wants to touch you
and the cars and busses
that still has their lights on,
brings another atmosphere
to a morning ride.

The motorbike that feels
as if it’s alive under you
and shake and trembles
with bumps in the road
and the raw power,
that lies in your hand in a throttle
brings a sensation
of the wonder of existing
and to life on this planet.

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Wonder About The Cicada That You See

i know that this morning
you walk on the park
on a sunny day and it
is, of course, hot

and then you see this cicada
and i wonder if it is
singing
or grumbling
on this very hot sunny day by the park

i wonder if the cicada stares
at you
i wonder if you talk to the cicada
i wonder if
something happens that you
cannot just forget
about the cicada

i wonder if everything is unfinished
images half-printed
i wonder if at all, to whatever we see and feel and
talk about i wonder if
there must be conclusions
i wonder if
we must limit only to our own observations
leave it that way
like a bat hanging on the wall
and then

just that, whether if flies away or drops dead
you say

i do not honestly know and
i have really nothing to say

i like it with you,

something unfinished, and perhaps that is the beauty in you
this suspended suspense
suspenseful till nowhere

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Forget About The Use Of Alcohol

It would be great,
If those giving their biased opinions...
Behind the scenes,
Come forward!
And publicly make it known,
That what they expose...
Is merely a facade to show.

What is unbiased as expressed,
Does not reflect their deeds.
Has anyone noticed,
Something conflicting about this?

What other explanation would they have,
For the devastation that has occurred?
It is everywhere!
Are those affected...
The only ones that see it?

And taxes collected and spent,
Are used for...?
Oh,
That's right.
Protecting standards and values.
And a way of life!

Someone amongst them...
Had to have had prior knowledge,
Of a crumbling beginning.
Hunger and homelessness...
Have not been choices made.

Forget about the use of alcohol.
Who hasn't attempted to blame that,
As a means to excuse their actions!
Many have wined and dined too long...
On grandeur and condo decor.
Now they are whining to discover to find...
In prolonged debates,
Their decisions made were wrong.

Now with a blaming done to one another...
As to who should be accountable,
For enforcing upon them delusions...
That have been much too strong!
And...
Irresponsible.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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