Quotes about harpoon, page 2
If only magic was real.
If only magic was real.
But only for nice wee people.
If evil people had magic,
All chaos would break loose.
The punks would finally get their way,
And there would be all out anarchy.
Evil people could kill nice wee people,
With a flick of the wrist and a ceremonial word,
Assuming that’s how magic would work if it was real.
Alas, we return to the punks,
Their philosophy is non-conforming,
So then the punks would become nice wee people,
And wear nice wee clothes,
And live in houses with white picket fences,
Unless the evil people killed them for being nice wee people.
I wish I had magic.
I would make the world a better place.
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poem by Mordrid Harpoon
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Perfect person i adore, only perfect person i'm assured
If only I knew that, I’ll found a person like you,
my heart will be so happy, and my day comes into a
living legacy of the memory of every yesterday, and
as i leave the portal of today, the past comes the day
to remember the present of what was the moment of the
past, for only today that makes the meaning of what
is year after years gone
flaccidly leads me to what the dream comes, easy to
live in the abundance of the heart the soul speak and the
wreath of victory lingers in every moment of the past, a
happy memory shared and a joy wondered that leads to
master the hallucinating shooting star, where the
blissfulness of time settled in your alluring heart of
love
come and touch my peaceful harmony of rhythmic
passion, live the harpoon of the growing glows of living,
fear me not for I make you the queen of my trembling
honest life, the true and genuine truth of loving you, would
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poem by Antonio Liao
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Me And The Man
the man arguing bluntly from the morning
many time I told him not I your peace
not I the heat to hit the target most above
the light where resides super imposed beauty
to magnify glory of creation life and dust
the man yet hopeful to help the harpoon
just before it pinning to himself with agony
cluster of sequence never raise before his death
the man more vacant with deepest his pretend
to trust any chief whom graved by night
a liquid tranquil the soul of nothingness
mitigating from morning to ask me a why
perhaps last a man seems to be asked
before drowning in the ocean of time and dark
told him many times you never meet your desire
never fulfilled the lust you felt to mistify
the moments of logging into long horizon
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poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Snafu
Lullaby to a goodnight
No more fuss and fight
Out went the light
So dull once so bright
Ending of a sweet dream
Rebuilder of self-esteem
The sun shines as a beam
Now the changing of the regime
The piper carried the final tune
Up went the balloon
No one left to spoon
I wont be coming home soon
The caterpillar imaged from the cocoon
I was busy drawing a cartoon
The rain came down as a monsoon
From heartache I thought I was immune
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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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She Sinful Or Wild
All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right
until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she
had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all
went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was
the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that
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poem by Terry Collett
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A great warrior in a melted candle
there will be no other day but a memory of
today, just a dropp of rainbow of my life sharpen the
edge of the past and find the wounded last, out to rise;
and let me please return in the portray that makes
it cast, know not even the end
should i ever run for that moment will come,
when i will found you in the wet land, of where no shelter
to hide and the wound lashes to swollen of hearty pain
in and above the chest; has the silent of the great
roaring sea, stop the ears to listen
lure me not to light the scented candle for the
immortal friendship leaves no regret to hold the torch i
adore, sprout the golden halos of harmony of the wind,
whirl fully callus the chariot of sharpen harpoon, surge
in the bleed of a warriors shielded the flame of victory
let me not spoiled the smile of a majestic warrior,
the honor knight have gone beyond the war, reaching
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poem by Antonio Liao
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Whales
Whales.
What can I say about whales? I’ve seen them blow geysers of hot water
on the coast of Canada and Norway. Great innocent beings with small
brains living in peace, but for man. So much meat and fat; have you ever
tasted whale meat, it is dark and tender but it has to be soaked overnight
in vinegar or it will taste like cod liver oil. In the old days its fat made liquid
was good to lit lamps. We have got electricity now, so if you want a steak
kill a cow, they are plentiful, mind they are innocent too, graze and do not
know they are targeted to end up as burgers. The whales have a complex
language marine biologists say I don’t think it is hard at all, they are saying
in surprisingly feminine voice … where are you? I’m here two miles away
from you and watch out for boats, with propellers”. “Ok, thank you”
Sven Foyn, the whale murderer, nearly hunted them to extinction with his
exploding harpoon gun, but thanks to a few nature lovers this cruel practice
ended… Today there are many whales in the ocean sooner or later someone
will say there are too many of them, we have to cull them and make a little
money on the side. And unseen by us, but known by whales, a dark hulled
ship with a captain Ahab onboard is still hunting for an illusory white whale.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Moon
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou seemest most charming to my sight;
As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high,
A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night;
For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish,
And with them he makes a dainty dish.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the fox in the night,
And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away
Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the farmer in the night,
and makes his heart beat high with delight
As he views his crops by the light in the night.
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Because Even the Word Obstacle is an Obstacle
Try to love everything that gets in your way:
the Chinese women in flowered bathing caps
murmuring together in Mandarin, doing leg exercises in your lane
while you execute thirty-six furious laps,
one for every item on your to-do list.
The heavy-bellied man who goes thrashing through the water
like a horse with a harpoon stuck in its side,
whose breathless tsunamis rock you from your course.
Teachers all. Learn to be small
and swim through obstacles like a minnow
without grudges or memory. Dart
toward your goal, sperm to egg. Thinking Obstacle
is another obstacle. Try to love the teenage girl
idly lounging against the ladder, showing off her new tattoo:
Cette vie est la mienne, This life is mine,
in thick blue-black letters on her ivory instep.
Be glad shell have that to look at all her life,
and keep going, keep going. Swim by an uncle
in the lane next to yours who is teaching his nephew
how to hold his breath underwater,
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poem by Alison Luterman
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Enigmas
You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
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poem by Pablo Neruda
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