Best Men
Begin to undersize him even now,
And when he realises you, say how.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Man In The Middle
Like an inventor
He is a symbol of a new age
He glides above the realms
Of you and me
He flows through your life
And makes you feel quite small
You may sit up in your chair
He doesnt care at all
Hes the man in the middle
You can tell which way he lays
Hes the man in the middle
And he realises
And he realises
And he realises
Beauty pays
His gowns come from paris
Occasionally from rome
He can go anywhere
Say back to his home
He flows through your life
And makes you feel quite small
Flashing to the white collars
Ha, he doesnt care at all
Hes the man in the middle
You can tell which way he lays
Hes the man in the middle
And he realises
And he realises
And he realises
Beauty pays
Please...
Hes the man in the middle
You can tell which way he lays
Hes the man in the middle
And he realises
And he realises
And he realises
Beauty pays
Hes the man in the middle
You can tell which way he lays
Hes the man in the middle
And he realises
And he realises
And he realises
Beauty pays
Please...
song performed by Tom Petty
Added by Lucian Velea
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Realisation
In his youth,
He was so busy
With his career
That he turned
A blind eye and
Flew past her…
Now,
Past his prime
Albeit a lot late
He realises…
She had feelings
For him and he
Had loved her.
But when
Winter sets in,
Spring blossoms
Wither and die out
So he also realises
That now, for ever
He had lost her…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Don't Forgive Him
Men of clan kill those they love for money,
Blood of brothers can't be cleanse
from their memory
Hades, get thee behind me!
Who knows when Christ is coming?
.
Faustus sold his soul for love of magic
And had them all to his means,
From scholarly, he went to trickery,
Who knows what else could it be?
.
Mephastophilis, dont you forgive him,
Your time at his service is finished
You kill him, you burn him
you slaughter him,
His soul you take with you to Hades
Till he realises there is no escape
from nemesis.
.
Oh ye who think Nigerians are fraudsters,
Never mind, go thee to Jamaica.
Till the day you realises no place is better,
Your life again won't be safer.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Why WILL The Girls Refuse? - Parody
Why will the girls refuse, mamma,
why will the girls refuse?
For every time one turns me down
I throw a fit of blues.
how can a guy go gad about
with no-one to amuse,
when each proposal meets with frown –
some clues, mamma, your views?
Why can’t they be content, mamma,
when taken out to dine
to Fred’s fine fish and chip bazaar
with water ‘stead of wine, -
it went down well with you and pa
before the parking fine,
so if we walk – no need for car –
why will Miss Prissy whine?
I’m sure I’ve done my best, mamma,
to keep them at my heels,
and yet if ever we’re alone
each wretched creature squeals
should I embrace a funny bone
or wonder what conceals
the iron curtain of a bra
which never one unpeels.
I only weigh five hundred pounds
must wait grow hand in hand
with weight whence maestro singer's sounds
are heard throughout the land?
And why on Earth must out of bounds
my girth appear? I'm grand,
although I cannot ride to hounds -
why won't ONE understand?
I’m only fifty-four, mamma,
I long for one sure fling, -
if plastic painted proper shines
why won’t one wear my ring?
I’ve duly learned my deaf-dumb signs
so studiously to bring
a new dimension to my lines –
each answers sharply, stings.
I try to psycho-analyse
the promises unkept,
I’ve kept my privates undersize
well hidden though I wept.
I’ve tried ignoring petty lies,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Doors, Doors, Doors
1. Old Man
Old man, it's four flights up and for what?
Your room is hardly bigger than your bed.
Puffing as you climb, you are a brown woodcut
stooped over the thin tail and the wornout tread.
The room will do. All that's left of the old life
is jampacked on shelves from floor to ceiling
like a supermarket: your books, your dead wife
generously fat in her polished frame, the congealing
bowl of cornflakes sagging in their instant milk,
your hot plate and your one luxury, a telephone.
You leave your door open, lounging in maroon silk
and smiling at the other roomers who live alone.
Well, almost alone. Through the old-fashioned wall
the fellow next door has a girl who comes to call.
Twice a week at noon during their lunch hour
they puase by your door to peer into your world.
They speak sadly as if the wine they carry would sour
or as if the mattress would not keep them curled
together, extravagantly young in their tight lock.
Old man, you are their father holding court
in the dingy hall until their alarm clock
rings and unwinds them. You unstopper the quart
of brandy you've saved, examining the small print
in the telephone book. The phone in your lap is all
that's left of your family name. Like a Romanoff prince
you stay the same in your small alcove off the hall.
Castaway, your time is a flat sea that doesn't stop,
with no new land to make for and no new stories to swap.
2. Seamstress
I'm at pains to know what else I could have done
but move him out of his parish, him being my son;
him being the only one at home since his Pa
left us to beat the Japs at Okinawa.
I put the gold star up in the front window
beside the flag. Alterations is what I know
and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
When my boy had the fever and the bad dreams
[...] Read more
poem by Anne Sexton
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Randall
1, 2, 3, 4,
My name is Randall,
No I don't think I've met you before my friend,
I don't really know you,
But I heard your message on the answering machine,
Think it went something like this,
"Hello Randall,
Heard that you wrote a big hit,
And you're rich now,
Hope you remember the promise you made,
When I taught you everything that you know"
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come.
My name is rock star,
Tell me aren't you sick of me yet, my friends,
Cos I am the asshole,
Who thinks that his advise is all you need to survive,
Give me the sound of the crowd,
Give me the people who know all the lyrics,
Give me the face of the kid in the front,
When he realises what the song is about.
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Here they come.
Time to tell the truth now Randall,
Time to give it up now Randall,
Time to let us know now Randall,
Please, Randall please,
My name is Randall,
And that can be anything you want it to be,
Woo!
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
Randall here they come,
Do run run, do run run,
[...] Read more
song performed by Wheatus
Added by Lucian Velea
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One only realises the importance of a well when the water dries up.
African proverbs
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I think the journey for a politician goes from wanting to please all the people all the time, to a political leader that realises in the end his responsibility is to decide. And when he decides, he divides.
quote by Tony Blair
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I think sadly that Morse thinks that he can exist on his own and he only realises at the end that he can't and never really has been able to. I feel sorry for him.
quote by John Thaw
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That's one of the great things about poetry; one realises that one does one's little turn - that you're just part of the great crop, as it were.
quote by Paul Muldoon
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The violent reaction on the recent development of modern physics can only be understood when one realises that here the foundations of physics have started moving; and that this motion has caused the feeling that the ground would be cut from science.
quote by Werner Heisenberg
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I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
quote by Virginia Woolf
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Recover
I kept
Telling him
Don't keep
Doing this
To me…
I'll never
Recover.
He didn't
Believe me.
Never, ever
Listened
To me…
Took me
Very lightly.
Thought -
I was wallowing
In self-pity.
Now,
He writhes
In pain -
Seeing me
In pain.
But knows not
How to cure me
As he realises...
I'll never recover.
(Theme: Heartbreak)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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In The Solitude Of My Mind
As I sit and watch the fire’s glow
in the solitude of my mind,
I can see more than any person realises.
I sometimes wonder if it is the future
my mind allows me to see,
or am I daydreaming
hypnotised by the dancing flames.
I can sit for hours
enchanted under its spell
and visit many countries
in the solitude of my mind.
The world has no boundaries;
there is no place I cannot go,
no tongue that I cannot speak,
as I sit in silence
in the solitude of my mind.
3 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet: The World today
The present world's a virtual one to most;
Where people tend to live lives unreal!
The threat of sin and temptations- a ghost;
As devils manage many souls to steal.
Man lives in thoughts fantastic to the core;
He alters mood, performance and skills too;
And never satisfied, he wants much more;
Immoral ways to achieve, he doth woo.
The surreal world cannot last for long;
Some day, man realises facts of life;
When mournful turns his earthly final song;
Death stealthly somes to cut Life's thread like knife!
And knowing all this, man refuses to change;
His desires are umptine and in range!
poem by John Celes
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Silence and pain
Silence has built a wreckage of a girl
Silence feeds on her loneliness.
Bringing with it pain and sadness
Black clouds haunt and torment.
A young woman is struck and wrecked.
Struck, wrecked and destroyed by depression.
There is no sound of laughter or joy here.
she has chucked in the towel today
Her soul slowly rots away into decay.
soon depression will claim her.
Emptiness builds itshome in this young woman
Silence and sadness has bred her soul and heart.
A deepening sea of nowhereness consumes
And eats away at every connecting thread
Confusion feeds like a savage inside her,
Leaving no worthy remains
Destined to walk through life Alone.
She realises her fate.
She knows depression will forever have a hold
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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When you get the knock at the door
When the knock on the door comes.
I wonder will you be prepared.
For the news that your about to recive.
Will you be prepared for what the officer is about to say.
Im sorry but I have bad news.
Your duaghter has been found dead.
It would appear shes taken her own life.
She was found an hour ago.
We need some one to identify her body.
The mother says no it cant be true.
But when she goes and sees its her.
All she can do is scream and cry.
There has to be a mistake.
Shes just sleeping.
But when she reaches out.
Her duaghter is cold and stiff.
She realises its true.
She screams why Amy why.
She recived the knock on the door.
She never realised her world would stop.
Never knew her world would come crashing down.
For the news she lost her duaghter.
Who she could not reach.
Is going to mess with her head.
Amy Kerswell
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Hole In The Road
They're digging a hole in our road, yet again,
And I really must say that it's becoming a pain.
The drone of their drill is driving me totally mad;
I have got the worst headache that I've ever had.
The electricity has now been cut off for hours;
I can't cook a meal, or take a nice, hot shower.
Electricity is something which we all rely on;
We don't realise how much, until it has gone.
I can't surf the net, or snuggle up in front of the TV;
And I can't even listen to my favourite band on CD.
Packed full of food, I daren't open the freezer door,
As, if I do, all of my frozen food will thaw, for sure.
I can't boil the kettle, and enjoy a nice mug of tea;
I can't listen to the classical music on Radio Three.
Oh, how I wish, the sound of drilling would end;
The noise is driving me slowly round the bend.
Come late afternoon, when the day isn't as bright,
My hand instinctively reaches to switch on the light;
But, my mind, very suddenly, realises that, of course,
At the present time, we don't have that power source.
When the power was restored yesterday, it was late;
This endless disruption is something I really do hate.
Workmen were here yesterday, and the day before;
I wish they'd finish the job: I can't take much more!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ladybirds
If, upon you, a ladybird, lightly, lands,
Don't just brush it off with your hands.
Chances are, that its visit will be short,
Once it realises it is at the wrong port.
For the ladybird, we seem to have a soft spot,
But for worrying wasps, we certainly have not.
Ladybirds often feature in stories for the young,
And, as a result, their praises are frequently sung.
To ladybirds, we have quite an attraction,
But wasps do not evoke the same reaction.
Dressed in its shiny shell of bright, rich red,
The ladybird possesses a tiny, tickling tread.
Upon seeing a ladybird, a wish, you should make,
Then your wish will be granted, in the bug's wake.
If you kill one, then, for you, life will be really bad;
Misfortune will come your way, and make you sad.
A ladybird will never do you any harm;
It is considered, by some, a lucky charm.
If, towards a ladybird, you are kind,
A place up in Heaven, you will find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Love is a Farce
Love is a farce
For if you love
Somebody
Would you not be
Happy if he's happy
Loving someone else?
Would you not be happy
If you see him seeking
Love and happiness…
Somewhere else?
No!
You'll feel sad.
You'll feel jealous.
You'll feel morose.
Your love is farcical.
For if you really loved him
You wouldn't bind him with
Oaths, promises and obligations.
You would let him
Freely flow…
If he realises that you love him
And he is able to feel the same
For you, he'll remain with you
And will never go.
But don't bind him with prayers and pleas
As if you want to live on his mercies....
For if love has to happen, it will happen.
No matter what, no matter how far you are,
No matter how close you live, yet so
Distant you are....
But if love doesn't have to happen,
Then no matter what you do, he'll
Never come back to you....
So set him free
And enjoy this freedom
Of unrequited loving without
Receiving any....
For if you truly love him,
Let love not be a farce,
Never a binding, nor an expectation,
That he'll love you as much as you do,
[...] Read more
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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