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Those we dislike can do nothing to please us.

quote by Samuel Richardson
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Hate And Dislike

Hate and dislike are not the same thing between them the difference is great
We well may not like everybody but our dislike should not give way to hate
For hatred leads people to bad crimes since hatred as a feeling is very intense
The feeling of hatred is noxious and is poison to common sense.

Some commit murder due to hatred and than murder there is no worse a crime
Their hatred has landed them in prison for to serve a lengthy span of jail time
Their life it is ruined forever and darkness envelopes their soul
Suppose that is what's bound to happen when hatred is out of control.

Hate and dislike are two different creatures and though dislike to hatred can grow
Hate in it has got far more venom those who hate mercy will not show
Whilst those who dislike you may not harm you at least not in a physical way
And if you asked me to choose between them I would choose dislike any day.

poem by Francis Duggan
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I Save My Passions

I don't dislike you with a passion.
I just dislike you.

I save my passions,
For more worthy events that benefit.

Some people talk,
From both sides of their mouths.
In the belief they are providing comic relief.

I see this as a distasteful embellishment.
At someone's expense...
Who is believed not to know the cost of it.

I don't dislike you with a passion.
I just dislike you.

I save my passions,
For more worthy events that benefit.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Romance, Love, Sex, Dislike and Dispose

Romance is a fascination
For a person, normally of the other sex
Expressed or otherwise
Irrespective of the other person
Having a similar emotion
It remains often gentle
Waiting for an occasion
To demonstrate the passion
When given a green signal
Romantic expressions surface
Which need not be anything material
But just can be a word, wink, wave of fingers
And a similar lot subtle things
Which only the partners understand and enjoy
Romance can even be maintained
Between people unmet
Exchanging these signals remotely
With no one else knowing what is on between them

Love follows romance
When people meet in person
It requires physical presence
Direct conversation
Exchange of gifts
Not necessarily physical intimacy
Expressed romance, established love
Grow fast
Both the partners longing for other
Intolerance towards separation
Restlessness if the partner is not available
Unexplainable anxiety
Irritability all these manifest
Self questioning on the genuineness of this feeling
Rehearsing a dialogue while preparing to meet
Why, at times, a strong dislike towards partner
Also surfaces
Relishing the mutual dependency
Romance and love often strike
Between those, who have a lot mismatch
With regard to a range of qualities
These are blind and at times termed irrational

Sex, the biological process
Is where all the above lead to
It is the final expression of these
And this physically intimate act
Is the climax and designed by nature
For reproduction of a genetic mix
Of the people in love
Scientifically it is the culmination

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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They Dislike Themselves

They dislike each other.
Ask them!
They will admit they do.
Ask them the reason...
And they will have not one clue.

Unless disliking someone,
Based on what is believed one thinks...
The other thinks.
The other feels.
The other does.
And what another one says!
That may or may not be honest or real.

Purely something done,
That has been based on speculation!
To ruin and destroy.
As if to reflect one's environment...
And its degradation.
Like choosing a slot machine at a casino.
Because it may display pictures of diamonds or stars,
On the turning wheels.
And avoiding it if the appearance does not appeal.

And making decisions by how one feels...
Not investigated at all.
That would take the time of a mature mind.

Need I say more?

They dislike each other,
Some say they hate.
Because something told that was not true.
By some who instigate.

They also dislike themselves as well.
Since they've been told they should!
And they do.

Need I say more?
Hopefully this isn't you.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Money frees you from doing things you dislike. Since I dislike doing nearly everything, money is handy.

quote by Groucho Marx
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The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Preface (1890)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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I don't hate anyone. I dislike. But my dislike is the equivalent of anyone else's hate.

quote by Elsa Maxwell
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Whenever we approve, we can find a hundred good reasons to justify our approbation. Whenever we dislike, we can find a thousand to justify our dislike.

quote by Samuel Richardson
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The type of band that I have now, the type of music that we're playing you either like it or you dislike it. If you dislike it, you probably don't know why. By the same token, you can't even really say why you like it.

quote by Chico Hamilton
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Hall Of Mirrors

The young man stepped into the hall of mirrors
Where he discovered a reflection of himself
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Sometimes he saw his real face
And sometimes a stranger at his place
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
He fell in love with the image of himself
and suddenly the picture was distorted
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
He made up the person he wanted to be
And changed into a new personality
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
The artist is living in the mirror
With the echoes of himself
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass

song performed by Kraftwerk
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

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

I
When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation --
'T is said (for I'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation) --
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round
In a most natural whirl, called "gravitation;"
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple.

II
Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,
If this be true; for we must deem the mode
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose
Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,
A thing to counterbalance human woes:
For ever since immortal man hath glow'd
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon
Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.

III
And wherefore this exordium? -- Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:
And though so much inferior, as I know,
To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by poesy.

IV
In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim:
But at least I have shunn'd the common shore,
And leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The ocean of eternity: the roar
Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float
Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.

V
We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom
Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush;
And far be it from my Muses to presume
(For I have more than one Muse at a push)
To follow him beyond the drawing-room:
It is enough that Fortune found him flush
Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those things
Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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But what you realise after you've been in the business for a while is that people develop opinions about you that don't have anything to do with your music, they like or dislike you for a million reasons, they like or dislike you for your last record.

quote by Adam Duritz
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Odds Would Be More In Your Favor

Do you actually believe,
I would 'say' something you dislike?
I might!
But I wouldn't count on it.
However,
If I were you...
I would bet on me 'writing'
Something you dislike.
That's what I would advise.
Since the odds would be more in your favor!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

Neque sermonibus vulgi dederis te, nec in præmiis spem posueris rerum tuarum; suiste oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus. Quid de te alii loquantur, ipsi videant,sed loquentur tamen.
(Cicero, De Re Publica VI.23)["... you will not any longer attend to the vulgar mob's gossip nor put your trust in human rewards for your deeds; virtue, through her own charms, should lead you to true glory. Let what others say about you be their concern; whatever it is, they will say it anyway."
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is sacred, not the church is free;
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me:
Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme,
Happy! to catch me just at dinner-time.

Is there a parson, much bemus'd in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,
A clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza, when he should engross?
Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls
With desp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls?
All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws,
Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause:
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,
And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope.

Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song)
What drop or nostrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,
If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie;
To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace,
And to be grave, exceeds all pow'r of face.
I sit with sad civility, I read
With honest anguish, and an aching head;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,
This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years."

"Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury-lane
Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends,
Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends:

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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What a Book! : to Calvus the Poet

If I didn’t love you more than my eyes,
most delightful Calvus, I’d dislike you
for this gift, with a true Vatinian dislike:
Now what did I do and what did I say,
to be so badly cursed with poets?
Let the gods send ill-luck to that client
who sent you so many wretches.
But if, as I guess, Sulla the grammarian
gave you this new and inventive gift,
that’s no harm to me, it’s good and fine
that your efforts aren’t all wasted.
Great gods, an amazing, immortal book!
That you sent, of course, to your Catullus,
so he might immediately die,
on the optimum day, in the Saturnalia!
No you won’t get away with this crime.
Now when it’s light enough I’ll run
to the copyists bookstalls, I’ll acquire
Caesius, Aquinus, Suffenus,
all of the poisonous ones.
And I’ll repay you for this suffering.
Meanwhile farewell take yourself off, there,
whence your unlucky feet brought you,
cursed ones of the age, worst of poets.

poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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Don Juan: Canto The Tenth

When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation--
'Tis said (for I 'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation)--
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round
In a most natural whirl, called 'gravitation;'
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fall or with an apple.

Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,
If this be true; for we must deem the mode
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose
Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,
A thing to counterbalance human woes:
For ever since immortal man hath glow'd
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon
Steam-engines will conduct him to the moon.

And wherefore this exordium?--Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:
And though so much inferior, as I know,
To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by poesy.

In the wind's eye I have sail'd, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim:
But at least I have shunn'd the common shore,
And leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The ocean of eternity: the roar
Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float
Where ships have founder'd, as doth many a boat.

We left our hero, Juan, in the bloom
Of favouritism, but not yet in the blush;
And far be it from my Muses to presume
(For I have more than one Muse at a push)
To follow him beyond the drawing-room:
It is enough that Fortune found him flush
Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those things
Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings.

But soon they grow again and leave their nest.
'Oh!' saith the Psalmist, 'that I had a dove's
Pinions to flee away, and be at rest!'
And who that recollects young years and loves,--
Though hoary now, and with a withering breast,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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I Am Human

I am human being
Neither poor nor a king
Simple man with high aim
Nothing to leave behind and simply claim

Less I ignore
Love and everything I get more
Less I dislike and push you away
More you come near and stay

Yet I feel good and don't hate
I have fine nature but no words to state
I can't utter a word 'You die'
It will not be from my heart but a total lie

Cry when you feel like
Shy off when something you dislike
Meet people and openly express
Love to hate and keep smile on face

It is not difficult to profess
But easy to cheer and chase
Ups and down may cause no worry
As there is little scope to feel sorry

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Time to Waste and No Life to Live

You don't like me?
And...?
The point you are making is,
What?
Wouldn't it be easier,
For you just to ignore...
What it is you dislike?
And find what appeases you,
To enjoy your life.

Or should I say also,
I dislike you?
So you can pursue...
An attention from me,
You are obviously not getting.
Okay.
I am interested.

But first...
Help me understand people like you,
Who have this kind of time to waste.
And no life to live.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't be alike

you are in war
day and in night
go you to fight
for peace to live
keep heart clean
'cause that the case
don't be alike
whom you dislike
when you defeat
whom you difeat
don't do the way
they always made
keep your trace
on the path of rise

don't be alike
whom you dislike

poem by Sallam Yassin
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