Quotes about prop, page 8
Fresh Targets
In these days and times...
It is difficult to leave confrontational people,
Alone!
And/or behind.
They seem to want to follow a process,
Of pursuing conflict to address their illnesses.
One has to strategically avoid them.
Sometimes at one's own risk.
Even if it means to be recognized...
After perfecting an assortment of disguises.
They seem to just know how to solicit,
Those they wish to identify as fresh targets!
'Oh!
I didn't know that was you.
Didn't you say you would be home at 2?
I thought that was you earlier passing by too!
What are you trying to do...
Fool me with another disguise?
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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3 Minute Warning
you got a 3 minute warning go under your stairs
with your dehydrated milk and your 15 cans of beans
tell you on the radio don't panic human race
your life is not so vital as it seems
as it seems ahhaha as it seems
Take off your door and prop it up against the wall
at an angle of 35 degrees
grab you're treasured possesions your cigarettes drugs and booze
and pile them up any way you please
any way you please ahahahah any way you please
written by Lynn Bradshaw 1992 at 548 Boydstone Road Glasgow G46 8HW
Ministry of defence knew all about armeggedon
someones finger on the button all the time
kept us in the dark for oh oh a hundred years
like peasants kept deaf dumb and blind
deaf dumb and blind
[...] Read more
poem by Lynn Weescabbydugs
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Song
No more shall hapless Celia's ears
Be flattered with the cries
Of lovers drowned in floods of tears,
Or murdered by her eyes;
No serenades to break her rest,
Nor songs her slumbers to molest,
With my fa, la, la.
The fragrant flowers that once would bloom
And flourish in her hair,
Since she no longer breathes perfume
Their odours to repair,
Must fade, alas! and wither now
As placed on any common brow,
With my fa, la, la.
Her lip, so winning and so meek,
No longer has its charms;
As well she might by whistling seek
To lure us to her arms;
[...] Read more
poem by William Cowper
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This Child Of Rebellion
This child of rebellion
At last uprising.
The government- Machiavellian
Man, is it so surprising?
Many oppressed years
Under the fat cat
Now it's beyond tears
Viva the proletariat! .
So the bankers bonuses still survived
In their land of milk and honey.
The solution?
Turn to the deprived
To prop them up with public money.
Now students are angels with dirty faces.
No room for prudence
When fighting for places.
Yeah, sting the academic
To fund this sick pandemic.
MP's blame the 'hoodies'
So neatly they are labelled.
[...] Read more
poem by Kevin East
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A Roving Band Of Lovers
They were a Roving Band of Lovers
kissing hands
smiling and winking.
They bowed to old ladies on the streets
over-tipped waiters
gave young girls flowers
for no reason.
They never cried;
stood on tip-toe
and invited people
to see Infinity;
did dances in the streets
and little plays in the subways;
carried around little cookie trays
made music with harmonicas.
They were a Little Band of Roving Lovers
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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As Dies The Year
The Old Year knocks at the farmhouse door.
October, come with your matron gaze,
From the fruit you are storing for winter days,
And prop him up on the granary floor,
Where the straw lies threshed and the corn stands heaped:
Let him eat of the bread he reaped;
He is feeble and faint, and can work no more.
Weaker he waneth, and weaker yet.
November, shower your harvest down,
Chestnut, and mast, and acorn brown;
For you he laboured, so pay the debt.
Make him a pallet-he cannot speak-
And a pillow of moss for his pale pinched cheek,
With your golden leaves for coverlet.
He is numb to touch, he is deaf to call.
December, hither with muffled tread,
And gaze on the Year, for the Year is dead,
And over him cast a wan white pall.
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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Old School Management 0123
Director D. described his drive
as 'urge to acquisition',
and so did nothing but contrive
to prop up his position:
his happiness would still derive
deferring all decision.
To drone as master of the hive
implies some sense of mission,
and so he primed his poisoned chive
with silent, spot precision,
colleagues who tried to look alive
were stifled by suspicion.
To toil four hours, sometimes five,
was felt an impositon,
for lunch, however, he'd arrive
poor corporate politician.
In order corpulence to shrive,
the firm paid his physician.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The End and the Beginning
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
[...] Read more
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
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An Uncommon Reality
I never lived in your world.
I never knew what it was like.
I have no real conception, of what normality is?
I never had to take drugs to escape.
I already lived in a world of my own.
I never aimed for or earnestly sort the high life.
I lived an artistic life, of the mind of the soul,
forever separating my life, from the common life.
From the common man and the common clay.
Everything was so sharp and clearly in focus.
Everywhere I saw and heard and knew too much.
I lived upon a heightened vibration rate
an awareness; as incredibly focused intensity.
I lived with such dynamic, personal passion,
I did not know; what it was like; to be passionless.
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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It Could Get Much Hotter~
It could get hotter with discovery...
With the finding of all of your wires
And your sockets extra goodies
Your timers and electronic ears;
Yes, Buster, it could get hotter
Perhaps with the exposing of your innate greed...
A hedonist drowning in his own arrogance;
If all of your blueprints are found
And gone over with a fine tooth comb...
Where your motive was simply the coveting
Of other people's gold at the end of their rainbow;
It could get much, much hotter, Buster!
If your San Diego connection is blown
Or that little spark in Surprise, AZ
Jus' B Coz comes into view...;
When your group of circuits are exposed
To the natural light of day
And your ratty DNA is all over the batteries
And plugs of your once stealth activities...
When your journals and logs of our activity
[...] Read more
poem by Theodora Onken
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