Latest quotes | Random quotes | Vote! | Latest comments | Add quote

It Rains For The First Day Of 2009

it rains for the first day of 2009
the firecrackers smoke all gone
the unnecessary papers
the trash that all of you left
are all wet and smeared

i do not wish to say
that this world is shedding tears

i know if these be tears from the skies
all these are but
tears of joy

you, my friend, who lies there still drunk
and sleepy, with dried saliva on your lips
curling on the floor like an abandoned child

yes, my friend, you can be positive about
all these

this year may still have so much patience
to give.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Related quotes

Waiting For The Day

Now everyday I see you in some other face
They crack a smile, talk a while,
try to take your place
My memories serve me far too well
It's not like at all
we just broke up
It's not like at all
it was yesterday
But something I just can't explain
something
And no one ever saw your face again
just say good bye to the stupid mistakes we made
My memories serve me far too well
the years will come and go
some of them will change our lives
some of us still have nothing to show
nothing baby
but memories
And I just wish to see your face again
Won't you keep waiting for that day ?
I know I know I know
You hear these words that I say
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want

song performed by George MichaelReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
Patrick White

A Creed For The Desperate

Don't let your bones be softened by fear.
By the time you hear it the lightning has already struck.
Don't listen for the echoes of things you haven't said.
And stop breaking your fortune-cookie skull open
like an old prophetic head
that claims it's been to the dark side
without being dead.
Don't let disaster define you.
You're not the bouquet
of a second class vinegar
hovering over a first class wine.
No crisis ever comes with its own identity
until you give it yours.
Move calmly over your own waters
like clouds in the eye of a puddle.
Walk as if you were already
following your own funeral
and lost your way to the grave.
People make much of being
but seeing is enough
to save you sometimes
from your own obscurity.
And when was there ever any security
in security
as if this flame were safer than that?
How long has the universe risked being you?
Take a chance on your own magic
and pull your life like a tiger
out of your own hat
to eat the rabbit you've become.
Then there's nothing to run from.
Become the sword
and you won't cut yourself.
Become the fire
and you won't burn.
Become life again
and you won't pass away
breath after breath after breath
wishing you could stay
in the negative space
of a comfortable death
that eulogizes your lies.
There are full moons
that don't weigh
like pennies on your eyes
to keep you from seeing too much.
And there are things of the earth
that have followed you into exile
like a new birth of things you can touch
that are wholly yours in passing
like music from a keyboard
or a fire in church.
And you may be down
to your last black beatitude
and righteously uphold the sanctity
of your will not to listen
to anything but the clinking of your own chains
and the mournful whistle
of your distant dying derailed thought-trains
giving up the ghost
but you're just sucking on the tit
of a perverse purity
and you're milking it
like the bitter truth
for all it's worth.
And it's not worth much.
And you may have flattened
all the mountains
and filled all the valleys
of your flatlining event horizons
but there's still life going on
in the crooked back alleys
of secret dimensions
you don't know about
stuck in the house all day
like a child afraid to go out.
You look at a tree.
You see a crutch.
You look at the moon.
You see a scar.
You look at a star
and you're lost for good wherever you are.
And it's not really a dysfunction of your imagination
that you can look at the Taj Mahal
and see a one-room hovel with slumlords
jacking up the rent.
It's good to look both ways
at any spiritual crossing.
But you see a stick in the water
and you think the water's bent.
And to shrink anything as the Tao says
you must first expand it.
But I think the Tao meant the universe
not a used condom on the death's-head
of a stillborn resurrection.
But you'd have to fall
further than you have
to understand it.
You'd have to fall
from your present plight on the world mountain
all the way down until you came to a space
where there were no more opposites in the abyss
and nothing in order
nothing amiss
nothing is meant
to scare you into being
and nothing is trying to hold you back.
What's your lover's mouth
if not a wound
you can kiss into healing?
You can see it that way.
Or you can harden the bruised fruit
with brittle tears
and flint knap chandeliers
to fall from star-crossed mirrors
like rain from broken glass
that hasn't fired up a single root in years
to dream of flowers.
The mind's an artist.
The painting's yours.
A self portrait in the image of God
whom no one's ever seen.
I see a black star in the bottom of a tulip
shining up at me
like the direction it took
to get to the other side.
You see a poisonous spider
like the leftover lees
of a flowerless wine
in the eye of a toxic goblet.
And you might raise it to your lips
like a lunar eclipse
but you never drink up.
And even when you do
it's a bad guest in the house of life
that drinks from his own skull
like the grail of a grape on the vine
with one eye open
as if he trusted the wine
but not the cup.
You're not the cure
that failed the ailing kingdom.
And you're not the miracle
that got up and walked away
to spread the word like a bird at sea
that had just discovered a tree to perch in
you might have sinned as a crow
but now that you've been saved
you're a carrier pigeon.
You can sit here all day if you want
like a buddha on his tatami mat
thinking bituminously
about burning enlightened diamonds
back into eyeless coal.
You can squat like a tree in rings of fat
smashing small thoughts
like eggs on the rocks
trying to read your fate
in their misfortune
like a chromosome
you hold in common
with all those who hate
having been born.
You can heap your afterbirth with scorn.
You can turn your eyes
into a pair of gravitational lenses
like dark matter
and wince at the stars
like cinders of light
that contradict your seeing.
And you wouldn't be wrong
because you can see it that way too.
The same eye by which I see God
is the eye by which She sees me.
Two creative geniuses in one studio
painting each other in the nude.
And she shows you hers
and you show her yours
as she enflames your solitude
by not putting her name on it
though it's a perfect likeness of you.
Your face warped into
a convoluted starless space
like the opening gala
of a staged extinction.
And your soul shrouded in lampblack
like a candle
that soils its own light
by putting on a deathmask of night
like a snakeoil salesman
selling skin to ghosts.
And there where your eyes used to be
two black holes
surrounded by random haloes of light
like lipstick on the mouths of star-nosed moles.
And look at that scar of red she's used
to catch your ambiguous smile.
That's the kind of genius
that leaves the asylum gate open for awhile
for everyone to get into your style
of imploding your eyes
like black dwarfs
with abstract depressionist astigmatism
as if gravity couldn't dig a grave deep enough
or matter make a stone heavy enough
to put on your chest to keep you from rising again
or the gold of the moon in your mouth
ever prove true enough to pay the ferryman
to get you to the other side of nowhere
as if he knew somehow
you huffed life like a paint thinner
trying to escape the race a winner
by never crossing a starting line
that wasn't already
a dark horse lamed by life behind you.
And he couldn't be bothered with anyone
who would fix their own death
and lay a bet against everyone
their pain could outrun their compassion
and in the second heat
their bitterness the truth.
But if you want a way out
like an emergency door
I'll let you in on a little secret.
Life doesn't grow into death
and death isn't waiting
to take your next breath.
And there's an eye of liberation
in the darkest hurricane roses of despair
that frees the light like life enough to care
that all it falls upon alike
should see its own face everywhere
through a crack of black lightning
in the white mirror
where everything that appears
evaporates like a ghost off a lake
or cataracts from the eyes
of the orthodox
who couldn't see straight enough
to thread their keys through their locks
like mystic heretics
to have known
the deepest wounds give birth
to the sweetest spears
that life has ever thrown
like light on a roadless night
or insight like a bird through the sky
that enters the sunset
like a planet following the sun
through the seven coloured doors
of the seven blind seers
who disappear in a vision of one clarity
with many more eyes
than there are lightning bolts and fireflies
whose age can be measured in light-years.
If a fraction of nothing is nothing.
Then a fraction of eternity
isn't a brevity less than the eternal
and every fraction of anything is all.
There now that's not too hard to follow.
The white face of the moon
veils the dark other you never see
because it's all been timed to turn away.
The moon and its month are one day.
Things might be empty
but they're not hollow.
And you're free to go or stay.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

These Are The Days

Motel sitting in the dark
Empty room like an empty heart
Love will start but they never stay
They don't look back as they drive away

Maybe I
Fix this broken head light
Feeling the cracks and pain arise
And maybe love will stop here tonite

And if she knocks on my door
i'll give her the key
Just one look in her eyes and i know i'll be
Everything that she sees in me
More than i ever thought i could be but

These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way
But for now i'm gonna have to face it
These are the days

Gotta use this lonely time
To change the picture in my frame of mind
Outside the window theres a sunny day
I wanna feel it on my face

You and I
Are out looking for the same thing
And these walls of wondering
Waiting for someone to share this feeling

And if she knocks on my door
i'll give her the key
Just one look in her eyes and i know i'll be
Everything that she sees in me
More than i ever thought i could be but

These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way
But for now i'm gonna have to face it
These are the days

These are the days between your hopes and fears
These are the moments that are still locked here
There still inside even if she will not hear
Like it or not this is what i got
Ohhh God

These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between and
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way (yeah)
But for now i'm gonna have to face it cause
These are the days

These are the days
When all that i can do is dream
But i don't wanna spend forever
living in the in between
I'm stuck here in a place without love
And i just can't let it stay this way
But for now i'm gonna have to face it
These are the days

song performed by O-TownReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Africa For The Africans

Say! Africa for the Africans,
Like America for the Americans:
This the rallying cry for a nation,
Be it in peace or revolution.


Blacks are men, no longer cringing fools;
They demand a place, not like weak tools;
But among the world of nations great
They demand a free self-governing state.


Hurrah! Hurrah! Great Africa wakes;
She is calling her sons, and none forsakes,
But to colors of the nation runs,
Even though assailed by enemy guns.


Cry it loud, and shout it Ion' hurrah!
Time has changed, so hail! New Africa!
We are now awakened, rights to see:
We shall fight for dearest liberty.


Mighty kingdoms have been truly reared
On the bones of blackmen, facts declared;
History tells this awful, pungent truth,
Africa awakes to her rights forsooth.


Europe cries to Europeans, ho!
Asiatics claim Asia, so
Australia for Australians,
And Africa for the Africans.


Blackmen's hands have joined now together,
They will fight and brave all death's weather,
Motherland to save, and make her free,
Spreading joy for all to live and see.


None shall turn us back, in freedom's name,
We go marching like to men of fame
Who have given laws and codes to kings,
Sending evil flying on crippled wings.


Blackmen shall in groups reassemble,
Rich and poor and the great and humble:
Justice shall be their rallying cry,
When millions of soldiers pass us by.


Look for that day, coming, surely soon,
When the sons of Ham will show no coon
Could the mighty deeds of valor do
Which shall bring giants for peace to sue


Hurrah! Hurrah! Better times are near;
Let us front the conflict and prepare;
Greet the world as soldiers, bravely true:
'Sunder not,' Africa shouts to you.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

(Angry Poem) Blood On The Floor

Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can Already See The Blood On Floor.
Spilt Everywhere.
All Because Of You.
All Because You Can Never Lose.
Always Right Never Wrong.
Just Walk Away Leave It Alone.
Its Like Trying To Talk To A Brick Wall.
There's Just No Way To Get Through To You.

Mark My Words,
This Will No End Good. I Can Already Blood On The Floor.
Must We Go Through This Once More.
The Stress Builds,
The Headache Becomes A Migraine.
Too Close To Just Losing It.
Becoming Completely Insane
Going On A Rampage.
I Just Can't Stop Now,
I Won't Stop Now.
Not Till The Place Is Burnt To The Ground.
Buried In Mounds Of Ash Lie's A Key chain Its All That Will Be Left Of You.
Please Oh Please Just Stop Enough Is Enough.
A Scream After Every Heartbeat.
No Reason,
No Logic Behind All This.
Just Swallow That God Damn Pride.
Or Just Go Kill Yourself,
Yes Oh Yes Beautiful Suicide.
This World Would Be So Much Of A Better Place.

Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can Already See The Blood On The Floor.
You Opened This Door.
Now Theirs No Going Back.
You Better Just Shut Up Now, Now, Now.
I Say Bow, Bow, Bow,
Beg For Mercy, Kiss My God Damn Feet.
For We Have Reach The Tipping Point.
Just Relax It Will Be Quick.
It Will Be A Great Ending To This.

Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can Already See The Blood On The Floor.
As The Anger In Me Soar.
Like An Eagle I'm Flying So High Right Now.
With Nothing But Pure Adrenaline
I'm Prepared To Rip You Heart Out With My Talons So Sharp.

Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can already See The Blood On The Floor.
Theirs Just So Much Blood On The Floor.
Just So God Damn Much Blood On The Floor.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Zucca

I.
Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring,
And infant Winter laughed upon the land
All cloudlessly and cold;--when I, desiring
More in this world than any understand,
Wept o’er the beauty, which, like sea retiring,
Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand
Of my lorn heart, and o’er the grass and flowers
Pale for the falsehood of the flattering Hours.

II.
Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep
The instability of all but weeping;
And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleep
I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep
The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping
From unremembered dreams, shalt ... see
No death divide thy immortality.

III.
I loved--oh, no, I mean not one of ye,
Or any earthly one, though ye are dear
As human heart to human heart may be;--
I loved, I know not what--but this low sphere
And all that it contains, contains not thee,
Thou, whom, seen nowhere, I feel everywhere.
From Heaven and Earth, and all that in them are,
Veiled art thou, like a ... star.

IV.
By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest,
Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden;
Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,
When for a moment thou art not forbidden
To live within the life which thou bestowest;
And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden,
Cold as a corpse after the spirit’s flight
Blank as the sun after the birth of night.

V.
In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,
In music and the sweet unconscious tone
Of animals, and voices which are human,
Meant to express some feelings of their own;
In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,
In flowers and leaves, and in the grass fresh-shown,
Or dying in the autumn, I the most
Adore thee present or lament thee lost.

VI.
And thus I went lamenting, when I saw
A plant upon the river’s margin lie
Like one who loved beyond his nature’s law,
And in despair had cast him down to die;
Its leaves, which had outlived the frost, the thaw
Had blighted; like a heart which hatred’s eye
Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew
Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.

VII.
The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth
Had crushed it on her maternal breast

...

VIII.
I bore it to my chamber, and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould;
The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted
Fell through the window-panes, disrobed of cold,
Upon its leaves and flowers; the stars which panted
In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled
Over the horizon’s wave, with looks of light
Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

IX.
The mitigated influences of air
And light revived the plant, and from it grew
Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,
Full as a cup with the vine’s burning dew,
O’erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere
Of vital warmth enfolded it anew,
And every impulse sent to every part
The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.

X.
Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it;
For one wept o’er it all the winter long
Tears pure as Heaven’s rain, which fell upon it
Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song
Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it
To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,
Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.

XI.
Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers 75
On which he wept, the while the savage storm
Waked by the darkest of December’s hours
Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm;
The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,
The fish were frozen in the pools, the form
Of every summer plant was dead
Whilst this....

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

You Can Close Your Eyes

Well the sun is surely sinking down
But the moon is slowly rising
So this old world must still be spinning round
And I still love you
(chorus)
So close your eyes
You can close your eyes, its all right
I dont know no love songs
And I cant sing the blues anymore
But I can sing this song
And you can sing this song
When Im gone
It wont be long before another day
We gonna have a good time
And no ones gonna take that time away
You can stay as long as you like
- chorus -

song performed by James TaylorReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

In Trying To Look For The Words

i am trying to look for the words
like looking for flowers in the garden
but there are not any anymore
in this season of rain
when sunshine is becoming slim
and hideous
when the mind is becoming tedious
about what to spell
and sing
there are lesser elements there
the usual sands
which we always equate with time slipping away from the fingers
the timid pebbles that do not ask anymore
the meaning of silence
too tired for the constancy
too mindless about
what happens everyday
in trying to look for something else
one finds
stupor as a burden at the back of the head
shunning light
evading vibrancy of thoughts and memories
retouching the blackness and whiteness of the past
killing time
and resting one's head on the sofa
with the tv on
past midnight.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

If You can Keep your Cheese - after Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your cheese while few about you
are holding onto theirs', all envy ease.
If none can get your goat nor cow could doubt you
your scent which, heaven sent, can tell true bries
from gorgonzola, parmesan without you
planning for house mouse contingencies,
or short supply where larder rats may scout to
grind, compromise the tasty rind most please.

If by a whisker cheshire follows trout to
provide fit end for sweet delicacies,
or cheddar meat meal follows leaves no gout to
blur enjoyment, taste buds' harmonies.
If desert heat no threat presents, no pout too
in winter's cold where lizard's blood would freeze,
If neither flood nor drought can mar, throughout you
may triumph over blue mould colonies.

If all kowtow, if none would ever flout you
remembering to bow before ‘big cheese'...
if hole in one you score in club you clout to
take golden trophy - competition flees.
If all above's accomplished taste devout, true,
while others fail to prove their expertise,
your's is the world, which elsewhere's up the spout, few
can make their time your rhyme's real_I_tease!

IF - A Writers' Guild Gild Guile Guide
If you can form and not make norms your master,
conformity, performance formal, flame.
If you inform, share, [fl]airing, flow far faster,
yet let not copyright bind tight to shame.
If you treat critic's inconstructive blaster
with humour, beat him at his game's lame claim,
take not to hea[r]t his tumour, bandage, plaster
half-heartedly, pretend [s]he never came.

If you can couple energy creative
well in advance of others in your field,
without confusing nominative, dative,
rei[g]n arguments through cogency revealed
in context, in a manner innovative,
code palimpsests from all but s[t]age concealed,
If trust in self is never compensative
reaction used when you refused to yield.

If you can link great ends with small beginnings,
and yet not brag, nor tag each copy sold,
If dialogue's more vital than piled winnings,
to trim the quill where will won't be short-sold,
If, ignorance ignored, your story's spinnings
creates a pot no Potter has outsold,
yet you can fi[e]nd the flaw, to fresh beginnings
return to steer towards horizons bold.

If you can write without cash motivation,
self-righteousness avoiding like the plague,
create consensus round an innovation
embraced by all without appearing vague,
If you can span from logic to emotion
set constant course from vested interests clear,
If you can ban all untoward commotion,
while conscience clings to all that it holds dear,

If you can set the good within you flowing
without the itch to pitch beyond kitsch brink,
If you can give the nod and wink while knowing
that mental states aren't always in the pink,
If you use inner kinks to keep on growing
without denying others' right to think,
If you continue for tomorrow sowing
refusing using methods now that stink.

If you can lead lead soldiers Caxton crafted
without kowtow before cold compromise,
If neither editor nor public shafted
the output that your inner soul supplies,
If you can improvise, provide redrafted
communication keyed to catalyze,
you'll find to your surprise that you have rafted
alone on conscious stream your just dream buys.

Writers' Real Mirror Reflection Reel
With inside out, and out, surprised, inside,
When penning verse whose end may, too, begin it,
When rhyming reel with real can coincide
Your's is the world and everything that's in it.
If you can write without cash motivation,
Self-righteousness avoiding like the plague,
Create consensus round an innovation
Embraced by all without appearing vague.
If you can scan, span logic to emotion
Set constant course from vested interests clear,
If you can ban all untoward commotion,
While conscience clings to all that it holds dear,
If rhymes may improvise, spurn prose redrafted,
Communication key to catalyze,
You'll find to your surprise that you have rafted
On stream it seems when wit reverse dream tries.

On stream it seems when wit reverse dream tries
You'll find to your surprise that you have rafted
Communication key to catalyze.
If rhyme may improvise, spurn prose redrafted
While conscience clings to all that it holds dear,
If you can ban all untoward commotion,
Set constant course from vested interests clear.
If you can scan span logic to emotion
Embraced by all without appearing vague,
Create consensus round an innovation,
Self-righteousness avoiding like the plague,
If you can write without cash motivation,
Your's is the world and everything that's in it
When rhyming reel with real can coincide
When penning verse whose end may, too, begin it,
With inside out, and out, surprised, inside!

Cropped Apologies to Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your crops when all the nation
rails, vain assailing creepy crawly bugs,
If you can thrive when most lives' reputation
is knocked for skittles, stumped by snails and slugs,
If you can sow, show though you stay surrounded
by failing harvests sere upon the stem,
where hopes unfounded, speculations grounded,
face farmers who through jealousy condemn.

If greenhouse gases can't delay your planting,
with fallow Brussels' edicts all ignored,
If CO² you compensate by chanting
an incantation to the heavens poured.
If snail trails slip upon your sensor networks,
if nano tech protects your fields' high yield
which on the Futures markets harvests net perks
that from the tax collector stay concealed.

If you can fight Monsanto's sterile sowing,
deny blight warnings, nor fear climate change,
if cash in hand exceeds debts most's greed's owing,
if you're the early bird with worms in range,
If you free farm through seasons, thank your maker
from man's pollution, safe solution find,
yours is the race, you, ace, may need pacemaker
for luck can turn, earn bridges burned behind.

Advice to an Applicant
If you can back your boss and keep on smiling,
while toning down his brash absurdities,
if, having watched the man manhandle filing,
you rearrange the folders pretty please,
if coy and charming, beautiful, beguiling,
anticipating all contingencies,
you manage new accounts, contacts redialling,
correct crass spelling, cover vagaries...

If you can keep your head while he's resiling,
evolve successful counter-strategies,
if ‘mum's the word', discrete, ignoring tyling,
from busy-bodies safe when he agrees.
If you can spend your time in reconciling
his intellectual inanities,
never upset his fragile ego, heiling
whene'er he feels the need, or profits sneeze...

If Windows easy comes, while modem dialing
to DSL migration's not a tease,
if firewall free from viruses hostiling
you clean can keep, recalling password keys,
if the above you show him recompiling
the data lost when he lacks expertise, -
yet know your place as cypher, never riling,
remembering to bow before ‘big cheese'...

If you can stand him publicly reviling
your good ideas, then claim them his with ease,
can watch while rival's ruin he's compiling
so coldly that a lizard's blood would freeze.
If when betrayed by his ambitious wiling
you triumph through innate abilities,
ignoring basic scheming, baser guiling,
you seize the precious point he never sees! ...

If you won't blush when, rash, he'll rush, exiling
your intuitions as freak fantasies,
but confidently while free-time he's whiling,
circumvent his incapacities.
Surpassing him in brains, tact, versatiling,
you never strive to swap your salaries,
but both feet on the ground, still patient, smiling,
can counteract his incoherencies...

If you are sure his image needs restyling,
select the suits that suit down to the tees,
if you are ever ready camomiling,
or sprinkling sugar, creaming, coffee, teas,
if you can trick his wayward infantiling
and censure not his immaturities,
ignore his clumsy tries at fond defling,
yet fondled, tactful, rise from off his knees...

If you take three degrees while reconciling
your private life to further Ph.D.'s,
if you can children bear without work piling
and keep them free from trouble and disease,
if you can spring his quick promotion - vile thing -
and play the game of happy families...
Your's is the job, the rest's cosmetic styling,
Oh prized princess and pride of... secret'ries!

A l'assistante de l'Indirection
Si tu peux supporter de voir tes dossiers
démolis sans souffler mot et puis reclasser,
si tu sais appuyer partout ton PDG
sans sceptique rester quant à ses qualités...

Si tu souris, beauté, sans être emmerdante,
si vive mais jamais surprise, impatiente,
le soutenant quand des contresens fous l'enchantent,
ses lubies supporter sans paroles tranchantes...

Si tu sais sans délais t'adapter au progrès,
les autres anticiper, sans jamais hésiter,
bien le préparer avec de bons conseils,
des envieux protéger ton patron hébété...

Très expérimentée, mais sans prendre de l'age,
compréhensive aider avec ses rattrapages
sans pourtant mériter accéder aux voyages
‘d'études' et aux congrès, - ces minables volages!

Si tu sais lui montrer se servir du clavier,
aux réseaux si primés vite se connecter,
de l'Internet cliquer sur l'intranet branché,
son PC débugger sans jamais se broncher...

Si sa peur du souris, du clic-clic, du mulot
tu peux sans interdits dépasser au boulot,
à ses flagrants délits trouver tout ce qu'il faut,
si tu ses buts poursuis en soufflant le bon mot...

Si tu sais compenser l'orthographe qu'il perd,
scanner, penser, noter, téléphoner, tout faire,
son planning programmer, sans être trop mémère,
le soutenir, si gaie, quand son coeur désespère...

Si tu peux accoucher à l'heure du dîner,
tes enfants élever tous en bonne santé,
ton patron remplacer - ronronnant au soleil -
sans pour autant rêver qu'on t'accorde sa paye.

Si tu sors d'H.E.C. sans prétendre à la gloire,
Sciences Po, c'est fait, sans en faire une histoire,
ou Enarque tu es, faisant dans ton pouvoir
le tout pour manier les re(i) nes du Pouvoir.

Lors mieux qu'homme d'affaires, ou chef de cabinet
mieux que tous ces experts si souvent égarés,
tu seras à tout faire une bonne rêvée,
mieux que mère, sacrée ASSISTANTE tu es!

If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on';

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Rudyard Kipling 1865_1936


Biff! The same father to the same son, now grown up.

If you can keep your job when all about you
Are losing theirs (by cutting down of screw) :
If you can keep yourself - for, make no doubt you
Won't get allowance, just for you to blue.
If you can make a heap by all your winnings
Risked on outsiders backed at Kempton Park,
Don't think that you will always get your innings
And kiss your boss's daughter in the dark.

If you should risk promotion, aught should tempt ye,
Eyeing the safe when all the staff have gone,
And, jemmying it open, find it empty,
And hear the watchman growl to you, ‘Hold on! '
If you should fill the unforgiving ‘minutes'
With names of all the people you have ‘done, '
Yours is the gaol, and everything that's in ti,
And, what is more, you'll get six months, my son.
Rachel Ferguson Nymphs and Satires 1932

A London Sparrow's IF
If you c'n keep alive when li'l bleeders
Come arter t' wi' catapults an' stones;
If you c'n grow up unpertickler feeders,
An' live on rugidge, crumbs, an' ‘addock bones;
If you c'n nest up in the bloomin' gutters,
An' dodge the blinkin' tabby on the tiles;
Nip under wheels an' never git the flutters,
Wear brahn an' no bright-coloured fevver-styles;
If you ain't blown b'nippers (Cor, I'd skin ‘me!) :
Stop y'r shells nah, warm-like, under me;
Yous is the eggs an' everyfink ‘at's in ‘em -
An' when they ‘atch, yor be cock-sparrers, see?
J A LINDON

If You can Keep Your Man
If You can Keep Your Man when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
Avert a break-up when he starts to doubt you,
Without behaving like a tart or shrew;

If you can bake a cake or change a nappy,
Although you've got a good Redbrick degree,
And yet can say you're reasonably happy
When other graduate wives dropp in for tea;

If you can lose yourself in ‘To the Lighthouse',
Yet, changing books, seek first the Thriller shelf,
If you can laugh at Mrs. Mary Whitehouse,
But sometimes wince at Wednesday Plays yourself;

If you stand up for Women's Liberation,
Think sex equality long overdue,
Yet purr when men evince consideration
And in a bus or train stand up for you;

If you can be a protest march frequenter,
But sometimes think the marchers a bit queer,
Yet, spite of everything, stay left of centre,
Oh, well, who knows? You may be right, my dear.
Stanley Sharpless

If You Can Crush
If you can crush, when all your chums are cribbing,
The urge that beckons you to do the same;
Can keep your tongue from telling tales or fibbing,
And can, when others err, take all the blame.

If you can nurse a crush on dear Miss Withers,
Yet bully off with just one silent tear;
Be resolute when even Matron dithers,
And weld the House together with a cheer.

If you can foil the fiendish Russian spy-ring,
Who've ‘got a hold' upon the Head (the swine!)
And by example selfless and inspiring,
Can make those ghastly Juniors toe the line.

If you while staying virgo quite intacta,
Can scoff at those who label you a prude;
And, when you leave, can know you've never slacked or
(Except to Ma'moiselle) been flip or rude.

If you can scale such pinnacles of virtue
And earn your teachers' praises as ‘a brick',
The truth, dear girl, (I do so hate to hurt you) -
The simple truth, dear Daphne, is you're thick!
Martin Fagg

IF
If you can stand the Quest and all her antics
When all around you turn somersaults upon her deck;
And go aloft when no one has told you
And not fall down and break your blooming neck;

If you can work like Wild and also like Wuzzles
Spend a convivial night with some old bean,
And then come down and meet the Boss at breakfast
And never breathe a word of where you've been.

If you can fill the port and starboard bunkers
With fourteen tons of coal; and call it fun;
Yours is the ship and everything that's in it
And you're a marvel; not a man my son.
Ernest H Shackleton

(28 July 2007)

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

If These Are Good Times

Yeah yeah look here what I got for you
I can hear you inside screaming
Feed me the juice
There's nothing left for you to do
I got get mine no time to be sorry

If these are good times

Hey man ya got some spare change
For me brother?
All I need's a little somethin'
You see me sittin' here face to the gutter
All'ya pass me by ridin' high
If the last one dead's a rotten egg
Meybe I'm better off a bad egg

All we know
If these are good times


song performed by Dog Eat Dog from All Boro KingsReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Blind Them With Your Reach For The Stars

Why cling onto what people think?
Is that going to change?
Are you...
Going through any misgivings?

If you are...
Let that be a natural process.
People are going to voice their opinion.
And some do not care how that is done.
Or if what is done,
Hurts anyone.
They just want the taste of that venom,
Dripping from their lips.
Every second, minute and hour...
A ticking clock tocks.

Why try to stop what is a fixture,
Of one's routined appetite?

As long as you give 'power'
To that which decides, select and contemplates,
Your choices made in your life...
What is the point of saying whose life it is,
Lived?
You definitely are not the one living it.
And if you are...
Why cling onto what people think?

When in the environment of those who are thoughtless...
You do not have to pretend to do the same..
And not one of them are pretending to maintain a sanity.
Why stoop to that level?
When you can blind them with your reach for the stars!

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

You Can Have The TV

You can have the T.V.
I'll take the radio
Really, I don't want the T.V.
Just please the radio
I'd like that chair if you don't want it
Thank you
You keep the couch
You'll need a couch that's ok
You can keep the records
Cause it's your sterio
Really, I won't need the records
Without a sterio
I'd like the kitchen chairs and table
Thank you
You keep the bed
I'll buy a bed
That's ok
The books we can split in half
The pots and pan we'll do the same
The pictures on the wall
We can split in half
And you can have the scrabble game
The money in the bank
We can split in half
And you can have your single name
Our friends, we can split in half
And we can each have half the lane
Ok it's settled then
You can have the t.v.
I'll take the radio
Really I don't want the t.v.
Just please the radio
I'll like a lamp if you don't want it
Thank you
You keep the couch you'll need a couch
That's ok
You keep the bed, I'll buy a bed
That's ok
The dog, you keep the dog
I'll come around and see him now and then

song performed by Barry ManilowReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Poems from heaven

poems from heaven come to me in my sleep
i awake in the morning and i start to weep.
for in my dreams i see the loved ones who had past
they give me these words which will forever last

you are my child which i gave to the world at birth
i did not know at the time- if and what
your life would be worth.
but i knew in my heart that there was a purpose in your life
now i am in a better existence looking down upon you
and the lord has shown me what you have to do..
you are here to spread the word to all the other poets.
that they could reach more people than they
could ever dare to imagine.

open up your hearts and minds, and let
your loved ones souls with yours entwine.
listen to what they have to say
for with their words, this world
will be a better place.

.these are the poems from heaven of which
i talk about.
and of this i have no doubt.

to all the poets of the world, continue
to spread the words that come into your hearts and minds
for they will be here way beyond our time.
.

.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

You can stay in perfect bliss, if you so choose

It is all fine here
I do not see anything
Nor do I hear anything
No hunger
No sleep
Ever wakeful

All of us here
Do not wish or long for anything
Things are fine around
And we are in great comfort

The dull light available
Is good enough to make out
What is happening

How come everything,
Everything means everything
Including me and mines, near or far
Has become totally insignifcant

We have nothing to worry about
We have nothing to plan or act
We just keep moving here and there
In the thin air

Only thing we do to each other is to smile at each other
Regardless of the other taking note of it or not

Once a while we understand
That someone has left
For taking shape
And once again that someone
Will hear, see, cry and laugh

Travel to this world was smooth
Staying here is wonderful
I do not know how long will I be here
As I will also go to a shape anytime
Is what my understanding says

All of you will one day or the other come here
And that time you will recall
What all I said above

I will not invite you here
As you feel you are safe there
I will not say you will also be in comfort
As many of us feel
All depends on how much
Attached are you with things around you
The more attached there
The more difficulties here

But, note, your coming here
Is definite and inevitable
But no one knows
When, how and why

Nevertheless, do not be afraid of this world
It is wonderful, painless
You can stay in perfect bliss
If you so choose

From a just departed soul

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Go For The Throat

Words and music by rick nielsen
Don't call me baby
Don't call me your inspiration
Don't call me jealous
I don't need you
Don't try to use me
You can use your own imagination
Just a little bit of information before i leave you
You gotta go for the throat (you can use your own imagination)
You gotta do it alone (just a little bit of information)
I am what i am (you can use your own imagination)
When i go for the throat
Don't try to please me
You just give me idle conversation
Doesn't give me any indication or reason
Don't try to use me
You can use your own imagination
Must be some sort of explanation or reason
And i go for the throat (you just give me idle conversation)
And i do it alone (you can use your own imagination)
And i am what i am (must be some sort of explanation)
When i go for the throat
If i say it again would you listen to me
If i shout it this time
If i say it again would you listen to me
If i shout it this time
Get a grip on yourself try to do it in time
Gotta say to yourself
If i say it again would you listen to me
If i shout it this time
I can't stand it no more (you can use your own imagination)
I go for the throat (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)
I am what i am (you can use your own imagination)
'cause i go for the throat (must be some sort of explanation)
I can't stand it no more (you can use your own imagination)
I am what i am (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)
'cause i go for the throat (must be some sort of explanation)
I am what i am (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)

song performed by Cheap TrickReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

You Can't Take Me

Party
Party
Party

I've been wasting all my time
And I've been drinkin all that wine
And I've been drinkin all that beer
And I've been sheddin all these tears
I can't go and you can't stay
Your not gonna take me out that way

Because you can't take me
I said you can't take me
No you can't take me anywhere

song performed by Uncle Kracker from Double WideReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

You Can Begin to Think That Over

I don't know where you are going in such a hurry.
I've got the keys.
You can not get there without me.

Unless you now have decided you want to drive?
And as of yet,
You have not proven to accept a lesson to learn,
For your benefit.

Are you rushing to collect more conflicts?
Or you just want to sit and witness,
To say you had been part of an accepting crowd.

And I am not in that kind of a need.
Nor will I enable those of yours.
Not on my time.

So...
You can begin to think that over.
Or you can choose to remain thoughtless.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Good or Bad?

Is this world good?
Am I good?
Do I deserve to be alive?
If yes, then why should I be alive?
What reasons do I still have to be alive?
Do I have a meaning?
Am I a good soul or bad?
Is god right about giving me so much pain?
For me life is such that everyday even while being alive, I always feel dead.
Nothing and no explanation I have
As you can see everything that I am expressing is based on question marks
These marks have no ending, the end is simply not present
Since, the suffering of being alive continues to be
Good or bad?

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

You Can Not Tell This By My Appearance

'Are you mad? '

Of course!

'Good!
I was so afraid,
I'd be the only one.
Here.
Use this.'

What am I going to need the tape for?

'Your smile.
Smile...
Then tape it!
We will never escape...
If anyone should detect,
You are not happy...
And not going along with the BS.

You will be reported to the authorities.

Use the tape quickly.
There's not too much time,
To find others.

We must find them.
Then we must go underground...
To share our happiness and reality.'

Seriously...
I am quite mad.
Pissed to high heaven.

'That's fine.
You can not tell this by my appearance...
But I am outraged! '

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches