Quotes about massage, page 7
Cries of a Politician
She is innocent
People with intentions decent
Know this instant
As she is magnificent
Communal fire
Ignoble desire
Laden rich atmosphere
Created this scene entire
It was all a plot against simplicity
A war against integrity
A mud slinging on sincerity
And a caste biased atrocity
She, a model of aged old tradition
Stayed away from audition
To media exposition
She cannot be of this edition
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Nothing More Nor Is There Anything Less
I am quite simple.
And I guess in that basicness,
There is a complexity some wish to see.
I have no hidden agenda.
No ego to massage.
I too concern myself,
With a degrading quality of life.
I wish I had powers to make that right.
But I don't.
Nor will I let that be assumed...
I enforce 'visions' like that in my mind.
To occupy and absorb.
As if I allow that room.
I am quite simple.
And I guess in that basicness,
There is a complexity some wish to see.
I acknowledge I am a writer.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Massage Baby
I lay stomach-up
pregnant
and he,
applied ever so slowly
massage oil evenly.
And I talked to the baby
'You know who that is?
That is your daddy.
He is such a nice man
he gives mommy all the massages she wants.'
He said
'That's right. I give mommy all of the massages she wants
and she feels so good
you can probably feel it all the way inside there.'
'Oh my God' I said,
I think he kicked! '
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My childhood
When I peep into my past
I remember my childhood
The carefree, wonderful world of my life
Nothing to bother, nothing to think
Lot of fun, lot of play
When wrong I did, said sorry to mamma
Don’t do it again was mamma’s answer
My legs ached after lot of play
Mamma would massage them at the end of the day
Who washed my clothes?
What to wear I never thought
Lot of friends
Hindu or Muslim was never the question
Climbing on the trees
Catching butterflies was the favourite pastime
Wanted everyday to be a Sunday
Getting up early I never liked
Sleeping late in the morning was my desire
How papa earns was never my concern
Brothers and sisters all loved me
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poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Exquisite Tactile Joy
I love it when you stroke my back,
I feel like purring like a cat, maybe
I am, goose-bumps are running down
my spine, I wish I could lie in your lap
forever, your hands absentmindedly
caressing my back – the TV, the great
estrangement factor, curtailing con-
versation, maiming imagination - will
become a source of joy; the joy of
physical contact
Whether you’re watching cricket or
rugby, a sitcom or Discovery, as long
as I can rest my head on you while you
massage my back, I’m happy; it doesn’t
matter whether we have something to
talk about, as long as we have physical
contact – you make my nerves contract
in the joy of soft, rhythmic stroking mo-
vements; afterwards you can ask me
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poem by Louise Tredoux
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Dig
Here a sight for sore eyes lay Lust in compromise with Harmony upon the shelf.
Find a place without yourself where you may lay forever young. Delve.
Pursue magick within the moulting cage as it lies shelved in derangement
Amongst the insane, those laid out upon the pavement strumming soft melodies sweet aloft
In vibrations changing out of place. Remedies fix on inhibitions, here the Shamans mix
Lifts the soul upon the drift to flow beyond the rift. Here Time upon the shelf lies
Content within herself, Content in inner space, allowing a shift in the passage of the wheels
Eternal massage of nature’s skin. Dig. Let me in.
What strange a friend is this that would act a fiend in spite of bliss.
What dangers lie upon the horizon we may never know, I'd rather miss.
The river stagnant requires a place to flow. I know this.
poem by David Lacey
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To Be Treated With Sincerity
Old tactics used to finesse from me,
My common sense...
With maneuvers thought to flatter,
A desperate ego.
Especially if the expectation,
Is to actually have such tactics work...
To leave me distracted to massage my own mind.
This approach some may find,
To leave them disappointed.
However...
And I'll share this with emphasis.
Since I am in the mood to confess.
If one is intending to shiver me to see goose bumps,
A simple invitation to my favorite restaurant...
Suggesting I can eat whatever I want,
And not concern myself with paying for it?
Will get me to jump through hoops and do backflips.
And those who know me intimately know the truth of this.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When Time Clicks Upon A New Point Of View
if you think that poetry is free time,
that is, you only do it because you have nothing to do
you are wrong. It is at the top of the busy day
when pressure becomes too much
when you see the two hands of the clock
in a race
when not one hand knows how to stop
when it is about to have a broken knee
when the numbers become like
a gasoline meter
you stop a while
touch your neck
rub a little balm of balsam
or vick's vaporub
you massage what hurts
with the gentleness of your hands
you run your fingers
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Touched By Beauty
Have you felt that softest touch
A silent sky
That says so much.
Candy floss pink streaked.
A kaleidoscope that leaked.
A child heaven as sunshine slept
Some wild spectrum
As moonlight crept.
Touched
By the canyon of the sky
Between the stars
And you and I.
Naked as the moon
We lay in fever of love.
Our ecstasy in a balloon
Escaping high above.
So very light
- The impish breeze
Does massage our souls.
And ignite
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poem by Kevin East
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Just Your Average Genius
Please,
There is no need
To massage my feet.
Because you believe,
I am among the 'elite'
I'm not one to flaunt my brilliance.
Or seek to shine,
Brighter than stars.
Or glow in darkness...
To prove that candlelight,
Is a lame flame in my sight!
I am just your average genius.
That's all!
Nothing special to attract awe.
Or expect anyone to carry smelling salts,
To regain consciousness in my presence.
That's not me!
Just a simple kneeling,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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