Quotes about prop, page 4
AE01 We Are All Victims
couch prop on cinder blocks
three files of sandbag on porch
those shiny tiles will come off
few miles up rooftops on water
where are rescue services, gone
warning people it's coming soon
can carry so much on your back
to journey unknown, how long
could be months, weeks or days
crops are surely lost, wash away
your groceries soon will go up
they want their money back
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Ignorance drowned me
his ill gotten wealth
the party splashes
the flashy cars,
all things go dinners,
the champagne, the
businesswomen,
sycophants, the
rowdiness
the smell of decadence
the smell of perversity
cronyists despots
all that i can take
it is the smell of ignorance
the lack of knowledge,
of the arts, of literature,
of things that really prop up
the mind, soul and the world
that really drown me
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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School's back
The vacation is over school's about to start,
new school bag, new books and also new prop.
After a long break again Homework,
just work, work and work.
Again scoldings by teacher and mother,
how would I be able to manage this is just a wonder!
No T.V. just studdies,
and also not playing with buddies.
Just studies and strain,
and also not playing in rain.
But however it may be,
school is really great!
poem by Apurva Gore
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The Pretender
A woman approached, asking
'Why do my eyes prop? '
'Probably going to give money to someone,
but forgotten '
why your eyes so sore. but he is mistaken,
'I want to check the money,
or want to charge but shame, '
I pretended not to know,
I actually know
I know, yes I do not want to give money
because I know
He often deceive you too
This world is already full of deceit
mirror tipudaya
There in the eyelid
the fraudster
poem by Prasetya Utama
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336
the main entry
of course in tonight’s activity
is the
crotch
I like it as a noun
And will always
Be itself a
Very hot noun
They say it
Might probably be an
Alteration
Of a crutch
In 1563
It was a pole with a forked end
A prop of old men
Actually as we see it
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I am dead....
When I am dead,
six feet below
and rain softens the ground
I will scrape the earth away
with cold, stiff hands
and wave at passers by.
I will take pleasure in the torment,
laugh zanily and call to them.
My bones will rattle with delight
as they run and scream.
What mischief, what fun
I will have when I die.
I'll not let the living
forget me, no!
I'll prop myself up
to be a nuisance
and cackle and creek
to reap my revenge on life.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Transience V
Sandy sickle trickle flows
from sure to shore which no-one knows.
Time rhyme measured by man’s mind
soon carved in rime is left behind.
Children that man, spendthrift, sows,
confirm or turn initial woes
as to his heirs ‘the undersigned’
entrusts whatever they may find
to prop or rock, to open close,
to greet as friend or treat as foes,
to spur ambitions transient, blind.
Spun cause, effect, as they unwind
may opportunity disclose
to seek behind rind surface shows,
discover meaning silver-lined...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Transience V
Sandy sickle trickle flows
from sure to shore which no-one knows.
Time rhyme measured by man’s mind
soon carved in rime is left behind.
Children that man, spendthrift, sows,
confirm or turn initial woes
as to his heirs ‘the undersigned’
entrusts whatever they may find
to prop or rock, to open close,
to greet as friend or treat as foes,
to spur ambitions transient, blind.
Spun cause, effect, as they unwind
may opportunity disclose
to seek behind rind surface shows,
discover meaning silver-lined...
poem by Jonathan Robin (11 March 2006)
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Walking Under The Morning Sun
the trees line up to you
like you are a very important man
the sun lights your
way
like you are a celebrity
the winds of fortune sings you
your favorite song
your thoughts prop up
like mushrooms
the path unfolds before you
you walk on your feet
with a very personalized dignity
in this walk
all the grass look up to you
their lord
all the bushes talk about you
their anonymous
master
their guest uninvited
the stones as usual are silent
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Friends
Show me your friend
And I can tell your character.
The friends you keep,
Determine your deeds,
Reveal your preferences,
Inform your references.
The friends you move with,
Shape your attitude,
Mold your aptitude,
Decide your future altitude.
Friends are of different types.
They come in different styles.
So be mindful of your picking,
So as not to regret your pick.
Friends can make you,
Friends can break you.
[...] Read more
poem by Emmanuel Oduro
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