Quotes about eater, page 8
Anomaly
She was a medley of synonyms
A jumble of sheer contradiction
Confusing her legions of readers
So busy, trying to paint her world of fiction;
Her perfect puncuation life relied on it
A vocabulary brilliantly used
Though conspicuous lags over the years called out
She would never go anywhere without her shoes;
No expose's of her darker side...
Of her days spent in a 9 by 5 cell
No hint of her dirty laundry
Hung out to dry, in her self made Hell;
No hint of her past actions or consequences
Self-hidden, her malicious greed-filled side
Bought and sold to the Devil long ago
Today, it makes for, a most bumpy ride;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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Do You Not Father Me
Do you not father me, nor the erected arm
For my tall tower's sake cast in her stone?
Do you not mother me, nor, as I am,
The lovers' house, lie suffering my stain?
Do you not sister me, nor the erected crime
For my tall turrets carry as your sin?
Do you not brother me, nor, as you climb,
Adore my windows for their summer scene?
Am I not father, too, and the ascending boy,
The boy of woman and the wanton starer
Marking the flesh and summer in the bay?
Am I not sister, too, who is my saviour?
Am I not all of you by the directed sea
Where bird and shell are babbling in my tower?
Am I not you who front the tidy shore,
Nor roof of sand, nor yet the towering tiler?
You are all these, said she who gave me the long suck,
All these, he said who sacked the children's town,
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poem by Dylan Thomas
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Courtsey on line
I thought something wrong with language mine,
Why not forgive when committed on line?
In stead reminding a person why did he do?
Politely reminding and feeling woo,
Not all the times, you are so alert,
Words spoken may not be of expert,
Mind some where and answer not clear,
Backlash severe and insult fear,
Youngsters come on line and start firing,
You stop writing and intense reminding,
Though we like but cause not finding,
Better not use and start winding?
Amused at the behavior nut find no answer,
Never to talk again and firmly swear,
I think everything is going out of gear,
Is it sinister campaigning or smear?
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Automatic Umpire
Now, Plugger Palook was a man in a thousand
(Said Horace the Howler) not one of yer fools.
But his barrackers vowed that he wasn't allowed
Full scope for his talents account o' the rools.
For Plugger Palook was a footballer. Get me?
An' one of the old-school. A wonder! A wow!
He was no lily-handed gazook to be branded
No sort of weaklin'. Not Plugger; no how.
Not much of a kicker - not so you would notice
His handball an' passin' left much to desire;
A dub at high-markin', his business was narkin'
An' knocking out umpires wot rose up his ire.
He'd done in a dozen first half of the season,
But the depth of officials you never can tell.
Now, a shortage they're fearin'; so, Plugger, not hearin',
They goes an puts in a serlenium cell!
The dawgs! Plugger starts in the very first quarter
An' gets a bit rough'ouse in makin' things hot
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Some Hidden Lines of The Traveller Who Just Arrived
faraway
no one is talking to you.
you are
shuttered like an open
window
there are leaks
you cover it
with silk cloth
smooth silence
gleaming colors
of gray
like the body of
a catfish
and reddish
bloody
imagination
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Beloved
I opened up my door of love and,
My beloved made love to me;
Then, the rivers of waters flooded between us,
For, his mouth was the sweetest thing!
Tossed to and fro,
As rivers of waters in a dry place;
And like streams out of the rocks!
But, you will see us walking together without ceasing.
The naked breasts of a woman deludes many,
And like a warrior rejoicing from wine!
But, seven loaves of bread equals to seven baskets of scrapes;
And at the appointed time, he will be closer to me than ever!
A tower is in the midst,
For we were wonderfuly made;
But, sow in tears and reap in joy! !
For, the sky is ready to pour down its rain.
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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Shakespeare Daughter's Hungry Street
Jules travelled down smoking art surreal street
to explore bohemian style flavoured beat.
Where all the noble artist souls are found
carrying her doves heart, she was stage bound.
Down to Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.
Jazz sax soared art savouring lovers danced.
Midget naked dancing twin brothers pranced.
Fire eater sister showed her fiery flash style.
Marching the military two step erotic mile.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.
Some priest held paintings of narrow grief.
Some lovers carried crosses of their belief.
Some miracle workers photographed their smile.
Some frozen suit prophets flaunted their style.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.
The red body wine skull shape face glowed.
Humanities blood of experience muse flowed.
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poem by Wayne Falconer
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Fussy About Food
I’ve always been really fussy about what I eat,
But I’ll tolerate most foods, if the cook cheats!
It really depends on how a food has been cooked,
Whether or not, it has a place in my good books.
Examples of my some of my most hated foods,
Are sliced roast beef and apples that are stewed.
I’ll eat beef that’s been minced up into a pie,
And apples diced into a crumble are also fine.
Fresh coriander leaves, I definitely will not touch,
But cooked in a curry, I don’t mind them so much.
On potatoes that have been boiled, I’m not that keen,
But eating mashed potato or chips, I can be often seen.
Egg and cress sandwiches, by me, are never approached,
But I love eggs that are hard boiled, fried or even poached.
I dislike the taste of carrots that have been picked fresh,
But with the taste of tinned carrots, I’m really impressed.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Sending My Goodbye Letter To The Heavens
She is finally gone.
She had the mind eater disease.
Not Alzheimer but vascular dementia.
It was caused by contentious strokes.
It turns you into a zombie eventually after all the hallucinations finally disappear.
Sitting on the furniture with a blank stare.
She was my gram.
I went as a kid to Trustville Alabama each summer to be with her and my grandfather.
To visit my cousin, uncle and aunts all my mom side of my family.
Sometimes by bus, sometimes by car.
A thirty-six hour drive.
A ride of many sites and good times.
So many happy memories.
Something she had lost so long ago.
I happy she finally went, yet I want to crawl in a hole and just die.
As each tear streams down my cheek I remember everything she taught and did for me.
She was part of me.
She made me who I am today.
She made me go to church when I didn't want go.
Every Sunday like clockwork.
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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Pulling Life On The Mercy Of Others
The smoky restaurant on the roadside
Was waiting for its first customer
Ready with local South Indian menu
The owner was turning impatient
Pulling out and pushing in
His cash box
Hotel waiters standing close
To their areas of service
I was watching all of them
Positioning myself outside the premises
I was too keen to see their first customer
This hotel serves you the best
Among all the such outlets
In this part of the city
It may be business strategy, I do not know
The quality of the food initially served
Turns less acceptable to me as time passes
That is why, I come very early in the morning
So that I get the good stuff
I took off my eyes from the staff
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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