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Kvass is the Russian Coca-Cola.

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Another Cold And Windy Day (Coca Cola Jingle)

Another cold and windy day
The birds are homing, to come to stay
And as i feel my mind is turning
And think of times when i were glad
I open up some Coke and smile
And then my minds free for a while
Things go better with Coca-Cola
Things go better with Coke
Repeat and Fade
Voice Over:
The Bee Gees reminding you
that Coke has that taste
yo'll never get tired of

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A Bottle Of Coca-Cola

one for you and one for me,
Fidel Castrol is drinking Coca-Cola! !
And like bread and meat in the land of war!
But a lonely young woman is waiting for you.

Appointed,
Wondrous works of abstracts;
Ornamentation,
Let the trees of the forest rejoice!
Established,
Let the heavens rejoice and let the earth be glad;
For i am now looking through the window of love,
And like Fifel Castrol with a bottle of Coca-Cola in the hand.

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Coca-Cola

This American life,
This African life,
This Australian life,
And this style of our lives all over the world!
But the bottles of the Coca-Cola will remind us of its roots.

In the name of Coca-Cola,
The number one soft drink in the world!
But the seven unknown secret-ingredients are with the muse of life,
And the source of the Company started from Atlanta.

In the name of Coca-Cola,
It is now produced in over 200 countries! !
But what started as a medicament (sold in the drug stores) ,
Is now the people's number one choice!
And the seven unknown secret-ingredients had made Coca-Cola what it is today;
But John Pemberton founded it.

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Coca Cola Annual Award

I am not a Kuala
to sleep in a wintry-day
and be the winner of a lottery
or a gambler to bet my money
in some race to get a loot.
I won't taste Coca Cola
from the fake cyber wallah.

A fraud from the wonderful Japan
calling himself 'Promotion Manager'
sent me a letter seeming authorised,
asking me to collect the award
of 63 million Great Britain Pounds,
as I am the winner of the prize
of British Coca cola.

A large sum feared me
and my wife swam in dreams.
My honest sons envied of my being rich
suddenly by a stroke of luck.
My cute boy, a computer-wizard
found the letter fake and Sam Dako, a cheat.
He asked my e-mail id first
and my bank details next
to transfer that huge sum to my account.

Beware of some clairvoyants
who promise love, luck and money.
Be aware of the cyber criminals
who tempt you to give your bank details.
Be wary of giving your address to email-friends.
Prizes are awarded in person.
Never the gambling makes one rich.
It is a tempting and slow-killing witch.

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Pepsi and Coca cola make people ready

soda's and water, blended with ingredients makes
the whole family happy, awesome some people
may say, satisfying result made our thirst refresh,
just as what many have taste; yawm1 ahrrh! whew!
ohm! feel so good and sweet for any holiday

Pepsi, what a luck day, Coca cola it’s always a
christmas for a whole way, wow! people shouted for
joy, dances for a night, singing and backing just to
stay for a night for a long, long company of friends
and families

drink as you laugh with Pepsi, makes you healthy
and a jump for joy with Coca cola leads you to stay
for a great job will done, the water of soda's made the
world go round, walking with feet, seeing with eyes
and listening with the ear, help cease pain in harmony,
like wounds rounded with thorn, the ingredients please
every dry throat to sip the sweeten soda's in the thirst
return

see soda as your on, use Pepsi as you drink and Coca
cola to round the healthy habit you earn, all are the
elements to stay alive, do what you can do for today,
act as you believe will bring other to learn, the highway
of what await us in the place what we call the future

be a Pepsi and Coca cola to other, let your taste be
tasted to zoom the future, its coming be generous
in sharing what you have in life...you’re a gift to other
life....thank and God bless you brother

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The Russian Mind

Willful and avid mind,-
The Russian mind is dangerous as flame:
So unrestrainable, so clear,
A happy and a gloomy mind.

Like the steady hand of a compass
It sees the pole through swells and fog;
It leads the timid will
From distracted dreams to life.

Like an eagle gazing through the mist
To survey the valley's dust
It soberly contemplates the earth,
Floating in a mystic night.

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Before Going Home

before going home
(it is already nine o'clock in the evening)
from the university
i call you that i will fetch you
since there is a fire raging some houses
along the road where you will pass
and i am driving this white car
still thinking about what will happen to you
when you will be left alone
tonight
due to some petty quarrels
which we indulge sometimes unnecessarily
i invite you for some late dinners
in some interior restaurant
catering only to the some
exclusive few
(perhaps those who are lost
in the labyrinths of a complicated
relationship, just like us)
and you say yes
and you order spaghetti while i shall have
a burger and we both agree
we shall take the
canned Coca-cola
without much talk
i hold your hand while waiting for the waitress
to bring the food.
you smile and i know
we're still all right

this is what i like about us.
we always want to begin anew
before we sleep tonight.

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A Bronzeville Mother Loiters in Mississippi. Meanwhile, a Mississippi Mother burns bacon

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


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


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


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


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


That boy must have been surprised! For
These were grown-ups. Grown-ups were supposed to be wise.
And the Fine Prince--and that other--so tall, so broad, so
Grown! Perhaps the boy had never guessed
That the trouble with grown-ups was that under the magnificent shell of adulthood, just under,
Waited the baby full of tantrums.
It occurred to her that there may have been something
Ridiculous to the picture of the Fine Prince
Rushing (rich with the breadth and height and
Mature solidness whose lack, in the Dark Villain, was impressing her,
Confronting her more and more as this first day after the trial
And acquittal (wore on) rushing
With his heavy companion to hack down (unhorsed)
That little foe. So much had happened, she could not remember now what that foe had done
Against her, or if anything had been done.
The breaks were everywhere. That she could think
Of no thread capable of the necessary
Sew-work.


She made the babies sit in their places at the table.
Then, before calling HIM, she hurried
To the mirror with her comb and lipstick. It was necessary
To be more beautiful than ever.
The beautiful wife.
For sometimes she fancied he looked at her as though
Measuring her. As if he considered, Had she been worth it?
Had she been worth the blood, the cramped cries, the little stirring bravado, The gradual dulling of those Negro eyes,
The sudden, overwhelming little-boyness in that barn?
Whatever she might feel or half-feel, the lipstick necessity was something apart. HE must never conclude
That she had not been worth it.


HE sat down, the Fine Prince, and
Began buttering a biscuit. HE looked at HIS hands.
More papers were in from the North, HE mumbled. More maddening headlines.
With their pepper-words, "bestiality," and "barbarism," and
"Shocking."
The half-sneers HE had mastered for the trial worked across
HIS sweet and pretty face.


What HE'd like to do, HE explained, was kill them all.
The time lost. The unwanted fame.
Still, it had been fun to show those intruders
A thing or two. To show that snappy-eyed mother,
That sassy, Northern, brown-black--


Nothing could stop Mississippi.
HE knew that. Big fella
Knew that.
And, what was so good, Mississippi knew that.
They could send in their petitions, and scar
Their newspapers with bleeding headlines. Their governors
Could appeal to Washington . . .


"What I want," the older baby said, "is 'lasses on my jam."
Whereupon the younger baby
Picked up the molasses pitcher and threw
The molasses in his brother's face. Instantly
The Fine Prince leaned across the table and slapped
The small and smiling criminal.
She did not speak. When the HAND
Came down and away, and she could look at her child,
At her baby-child,
She could think only of blood.
Surely her baby's cheek
Had disappeared, and in its place, surely,
Hung a heaviness, a lengthening red, a red that had no end.
She shook her had. It was not true, of course.
It was not true at all. The
Child's face was as always, the
Color of the paste in her paste-jar.


She left the table, to the tune of the children's lamentations, which were shriller
Than ever. She
Looked out of a window. She said not a word. That
Was one of the new Somethings--
The fear,
Tying her as with iron.


Suddenly she felt his hands upon her. He had followed her
To the window. The children were whimpering now.
Such bits of tots. And she, their mother,
Could not protect them. She looked at her shoulders, still
Gripped in the claim of his hands. She tried, but could not resist the idea
That a red ooze was seeping, spreading darkly, thickly, slowly,
Over her white shoulders, her own shoulders,
And over all of Earth and Mars.


He whispered something to her, did the Fine Prince, something about love and night and intention.
She heard no hoof-beat of the horse and saw no flash of the shining steel.


He pulled her face around to meet
His, and there it was, close close,
For the first time in all the days and nights.
His mouth, wet and red,
So very, very, very red,
Closed over hers.


Then a sickness heaved within her. The courtroom Coca-Cola,
The courtroom beer and hate and sweat and drone,
Pushed like a wall against her. She wanted to bear it.
But his mouth would not go away and neither would the
Decapitated exclamation points in that Other Woman's eyes.


She did not scream.
She stood there.
But a hatred for him burst into glorious flower,
And its perfume enclasped them--big,
Bigger than all magnolias.


The last bleak news of the ballad.
The rest of the rugged music.
The last quatrain.

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The Fat Daughter Who Plays Beethoven

facing me
she brags as he looks
at his dad

'you bet, best dad in the world! '
she takes coca-cola for a drink

i am not so sure
but she gestured
a tongue-in-cheek at such
a distance
visible to my
eyes.

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The adventure of Gingerbreadman

Gingerbreadman
Was frying on a pan
Holding a coca cola can
And he met Peter Pan

Gingerbreadman and Peter Pan was flying a kite
Then they met Snow White
Suddenly, their kites were wreck
So they go and find Shrek.

On the way, They saw Lion King
And also heard Cinderella sing
And they also met Tarzan
And they played on Tarzans swing!

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The Way We Were

sipping one coffee
licking same ice cream on the cone
spraying same perfume
drinking one coca-cola
eating same slice of pizza
bathing together
sleeping in one bed cover
one fried egg sunny side up
seeing through
one empty hole of dunkin' doughnut
laughing on grin jokes
holding hands while walking
on the boulevard
admiring the sunset
sitting on the bench
under the moon
your head resting on my shoulder
kisses for the night
we made love....

how can we ever forget?
the way we were

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The Fur Mites - 1917 - Parody Ogden Nash - The Termite, Harry Graham - Ruthless Rhymes

Some fur mites hop from hair to hair,
we seek them here, there, everywhere,
that's why we might flee from this day
flea-ridden wraps men trap as prey.

The Termite
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.
Ogden Nash

The Hittite
Some primal Hittite mined some ore,
he found it strong and mined some more.
and that is why we have today
no Coca-Cola cans of clay.
Shy Lady Laurie 2001

(9 September 2009)

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The Duty Free Spirit

mostly here are for mine eyes only, so here's the story


* diet cola version

Dear Jack Daniel, the man o war

When my tears
change into wine.............
a blend of joy
I drink for the lifetime............


Yours truly,

Uncle Johnny Walker (panting)

*russian (standard) vodka version


To Fisher, the king of nothing

When Bacardi (my rival-friend rum)
change into a Rossi wine...........
or a just malt 18 yrs whiskey
we both cheers for the lifetime......


Savoury yours,

Captain Morgan (burping)


great minds drink alike

SAME SAME

Weird minds
think alike

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Into The Pool Of Death....

what is prohibited
i take an offensive stance
i go there alone
savor it
like a giant pizza
and barrels of coca cola
i drink the whole river
eat chunk by chunk a mountain
siphon the clouds inside my mouth
you are all shocked
this matter is unexpected of my
an honorable man
diving into a pool of death
an ocean of lapses
swimming with the whale
you do not understand
why i am doing all these
i satisfy myself
bore myself until i am full
and numb
and no longer anticipating
seeking
i triumph over sin
seeing it and no longer
amazed by it
there is no saliva coming
from my mouth
my tongue dislikes it
finally
my body dead to desire
my spirit now rules
transcends
climbs and flies into
the well sought
and illusive
heavens....

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The Doctor

the doctor cannot hide her madness
at the patient
who has always been gaining weight
despite the
written prescription for the
strict diet
of vegetables and fruits
and less carbohydrates
with a definite no on smoking
and alcohol
and fats....

the reverse happens
the oily pork beside the chocolate cakes
the coca cola and rum and
Peking duck
goading, and hoarding
and overeating

he knows what he wants
she doesn't
he has always been praying for that quick
and happy death

the grief is too much
all his life he is the scarecrow in the field
the black birds tease him
the children stone him
the locusts have no fear of him
the golden fields have no need of him
the humiliating days are not over

he knows what he wish
the doctor is foolish

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At The Cafeteria

another long tiring day
and for a change you decide to go inside the cafeteria

you look around
there are people that you know do not know you

years have made you anonymous
in this place where once you put your roots

over there are two students
lovers you suppose since they are too close for such a wide space

whispering as usual
nothings.

you take your tuna sandwich
over a bottle of coca-cola and then you begin to take your chances

glancing outside this rain that keeps on pouring
the trees are wet and the pavements flooded

you wait, you think, you look at everyone around you
this place that you should not have entered

this life that you should have not taken
this world that they have forcibly given and now

this space that gives you nothing but this
emptiness.

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The Fury Of Abandonment

Someone lives in a cave
eating his toes,
I know that much.
Someone little lives under a bush
pressing an empty Coca-Cola can against
his starving bloated stomac,
I know that much.
A monkey had his hands cut off
for a medical experiment
and his claws wept.
I know tht much.

I know that it is all
a matter of hands.
Out of the mournful sweetness of touching
comes love
like breakfast.
Out of the many houses come the hands
before the abandonment of the city,
out of hte bars and shops,
a thin file of ants.

I've been abandoned out here
under the dry stars
with no shoes, no belt
and I've called Rescue Inc. -
that old-fashioned hot line -
no voice.
Left to my own lips, touch them,
my own nostrils, shoulders, breasts,
navel, stomach, mound,kneebone, ankle,
touch them.

It makes me laugh
to see a woman in this condition.
It makes me laugh for America and New York city
when your hands are cut off
and no one answers the phone.


Anonymous submission.

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Pablo Neruda

The United Fruit Co.

When the trumpet sounded, it was
all prepared on the earth,
the Jehovah parcelled out the earth
to Coca Cola, Inc., Anaconda,
Ford Motors, and other entities:
The Fruit Company, Inc.
reserved for itself the most succulent,
the central coast of my own land,
the delicate waist of America.
It rechristened its territories
as the ’Banana Republics’
and over the sleeping dead,
over the restless heroes
who brought about the greatness, the liberty and the flags,
it established the comic opera:
abolished the independencies,
presented crowns of Caesar,
unsheathed envy, attracted
the dictatorship of the flies,
Trujillo flies, Tacho flies,
Carias flies, Martines flies,
Ubico flies, damp flies
of modest blood and marmalade,
drunken flies who zoom
over the ordinary graves,
circus flies, wise flies
well trained in tyranny.

Among the blood-thirsty flies
the Fruit Company lands its ships,
taking off the coffee and the fruit;
the treasure of our submerged
territories flow as though
on plates into the ships.

Meanwhile Indians are falling
into the sugared chasms
of the harbours, wrapped
for burials in the mist of the dawn:
a body rolls, a thing
that has no name, a fallen cipher,
a cluster of the dead fruit
thrown down on the dump.

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The Fishing Trip

The Fishing Trip

By
Ross Dix-Peek


Oh, How I remember those fishing trips with my Dad
Ah, They made me so very, very glad
Up at three in the morn
Long before the coming of the dawn

My father assembling all his fishing tackle
So very gleeful, a laugh and a cackle
“Have you got the bait boy, ready to go? ”
“Yes, Dad”, and away we would go, all in tow

In our dear old “Landie” the rugged road was ne’er a problem
As we traversed the winding dirt tracks, and some
Ah, the window down and the wind in my hair
The smell of fresh bait a waft in the air

Rugged Africa all about, myriad of sounds ringing out
My dear old Dad gaily whistling, as we headed south
A cigarette forever dangling from his smiling mouth
And all the while the great African sun beats down

And then to the river waters we would come
Excitement in the air and then some
Dad would sit and the waters study
A swig of Coca-Cola, and then we were ready

The fishing gear debouched
Us along the river bank crouched
Rods dangling in the silver stream
Waiting for our first catch, possibly bream

Ah, those days, those days were so fine
The scorching sun upon my spine
Sitting next to my beloved Dad
Ah, but those days be gone now, really quite sad!

Anyway, with our great bundle of fish in tow
We would finally onward to home go,
But now years later my dear old Dad is dead
Only those wonderful memories do remain in my head
So, if you with your Dad fishing do go
And the seeds of bonding do sow
Don’t the time wish away
For there will come a day
When your dear old Dad no longer is there,
And wasted time together is too awful a cross to bear!

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At The Mactan International Airport

a diary:

we arrive15 minutes early.
i have only two light bags.
this time i travel as light as
a feather.This time i travel
alone.

it is a connecting flight
to caticlan. I have to wait
for another 7 hours.
there will be too much
minding on arrivals and
departure.

i escape this waiting
and goes to the ayala mall.
got some italian pasta
and fresh veggies for
lunch. iced tea to appease
the longing of my
throat.

i hop to another japanese
resto nearby. The soft
salmon sushi and
californian maki this
time.

i pooed at rai-rai ken's
comfort room. And i
remember the famous
poem of the poo
and the cheese and
the grand feeling
of freeing waste
from the system.

great writer, huh?

and someone just ask
me if a fake poet just
sent me a love note
from brazil or
nicaragua. I laugh.

what is the need
to know the name
of someone who
loves you and sends
you a note and does
not tell her
reality? is she indeed
true? is she as real
as her poems.

i have other matters
to attend to. This time
another pizza at the
yellow taxi cab and
coca-cola, and

then i have to buy
an ear plug and some
sun block.

now i have something
more in my mind.

a swim in a blue sea.
snorkling. island hopping.
corals. colored fish.

the white sands of boracay.
boats. banana boats.
white towels. buffet by the sea.

a walk at the beach at dawn
and then seeing the sun rising.

a walk again in the afternoon
and seeing the sun setting.

things like these. somehow
i am now ready and willing to
forget where i come from.

i am new. i am a fish. i am
a coral. i am a starfish.

i sit on one of those empty
chairs, a table of my own.
a candle light. and i am ready
to tell anybody that i am alone
and i have a name.

i need to practice how to smile
and yes, be attractive and
yes, be seductive.

(ha ha ha ha)

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