Quotes about manner, page 5
X6
the manner of perfection is always
the meeting of what is up there
and down here, for instance...
man &
God, and that is on the higher plane
but there is more to this kind of
philosophy,
even in the basest manner of making love,
the fusion of two lips
the collisions of two pelvic bones
tongue
to tongue
in and
out
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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33
A woman’s passion is easy to understand
The usual silence is her overwhelming
Yes,
It is her no that is consuming her really
A no to a kiss
A no to a hug
A no to a holding of her hand
A no to the fondle of her plump breast
A monster eating her
Longings and whims
Her desire
To spread to love against the skies
She will tell you
And she means it
She will kiss you with a
Spider’s kiss
Her hug would mean your surrender
And when she holds your hand she
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 09
It is narrated in the compositions of philosophers that scorpions are not born in the same manner like other living beings but that they devour the bowels of their mother and, after gnawing through the belly, betake themselves to the desert. The skins which may be seen in the nests of scorpions are the evidence of this. I narrated this story to an illustrious man who then told me that his own heart bore witness to the truth of it for the case could not be otherwise inasmuch as they, having in their infancy dealt thus with their fathers and mothers, they were beloved and respected in the same manner when they grow old.
A father thus admonished his son:
O noble fellow, remember this advice.
‘Whoever is not faithful to his origin
Will not become the companion of happiness.’
A scorpion, having been asked why he did not go out in winter, replied: ‘What honour do I enjoy in summer that I should come out also in winter?’
A perfection
What is perfection?
You mean precision
Accuracy in action
Or planning in anticipation
Nobody is perfect
Good ideas to inject
Never say no or reject
Observe minutely the object
It may look different
It may not look apparent
There may be under current
Danger is always inherent
Master the art
Have good beginning or start
Dress up well and look smart
Integrate, neat well and be part
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Father Shouted
"Go to hell, father shouted"
It was addressed to me no doubt
How was I to take his outburst?
Sometimes, I felt. It was needed or must
We receive disrespectful words from elders
But they are all our well wishers
Even if something is said directly
They are not to be taken disrespectfully
In family sometimes youngsters get no notice
This is general feeling and practice
It doesn't mean they are neglected
They are looked after well and certainly acted
But as age advances, you got to forget
Life is meant for kids and their growth to let
If they want to behave in different manner
We need to give room and garner
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Death relates
unrelated
but death relates
she lies there
like she is asleep
death - where
the first and last
experiences come
face to face spilling
a bag of grief both ways
somehow this
seventy something
still rediates life
that draws one's
endearment
a small Chinese woman
in the mortuary
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Passion of a Woman
A woman’s passion is easy to understand
The usual silence is her overwhelming
Yes,
It is her no that is consuming her really
A no to a kiss
A no to a hug
A no to a holding of her hand
A no to the fondle of her plump breast
A monster eating her
Longings and whims
Her desire
To spread to love against the skies
She will tell you
And she means it
She will kiss you with a
Spider’s kiss
Her hug would mean your surrender
And when she holds your hand she
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Unrequited Game
Do tell me,
if my words are just but metaphor to you,
meaning nothing in a solemn way,
stretches upon me are scars of unwanted words,
from the truth that beholds every single lie,
and such and such still bore nothing to you,
what a waste of a poet life to be said,
but alas,
no amok need doing,
for we are all not but in a confusing manner,
of shattered dreams and smothering truth,
does it hurt when I held your hand?
dishonesty never flow through your eyes,
does it hurt if I flatter you with all the truth that you own? ,
ignorance just a denial in denial,
so please do tell me,
if this unrequited feeling I had,
is just a game to be played by one,
To love,
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poem by Syafiq Syahmi
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Song
THE world's heart is kindless and grey and unholy,
As the head of the wandering Jew,
And can never be won from the cause of its folly
Till man to Humanity’s true;
There’s a path to redemption—but that we shall miss
While we seek in the old warring manner;
Till we re ready to fight a new battle for this—
The motto inscribed on our banner,—
To principles let us by loyal alway,
And true to all good in man’s story;
Not to that mockery, royal display,
Nor that Juggernaut, national glory!
And though ever someone, to be doughty and noted,
Like Nimrod, should aim at a throne,
It were easy to leave him a wight unpromoted,
To brood o’er his project alone!
Or to meet him at once with a withering hiss,
For we love not ambition’s old manner,
We are fired for a new race of glory with this—
The motto inscribed on our banner—
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poem by Charles Harpur
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Art is Long - Hair is Shorter
When artists wore a flowing mane,
Then, in a sentimental vein,
With pastorals they lured the eye,
Or sad, sweet scenes of sea and sky.
But now that hair sprouts from the face
They chuck their paint about the place
And, in the modern manner, seek
To baffle one with the unique.
I've often wondered if this surge
Of hirsute foam denotes some urge
Artistic that controls and sways
The hand and brain to newer ways.
For instance, might we not expect
An artist in dundrearies decked
In other manner to behave
From him who wore a monkey shave?
I've known but one of this quaint throng
Who wore both hair and whiskers long,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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