Quotes about massage, page 9
Just Another Day.
To wake up
To the perfume of the morning.
And breathe in
Skyline of pastel shade.
The miracle
Of a new world dawning.
And to rest my eyes
In greenest glade.
Call me a dreamer
If you may.
But it is never
Just another day.
To bathe
In Summer
Like a lazy river.
Twinkling
En route
To the ocean.
Nature playing the flute
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poem by Kevin East
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Silver lines
Sky was studded with dark clouds,
Rushing all over with big sounds,
Impeded danger of heavy down pour,
Adding of woes to already poor,
I never felt so poor and helpless,
Why He was using the goodness?
Tearing apart the dark clouds,
Who were waiting for flash pounds?
She was kept bonded behind the dark,
Would have been freed with little spark?
There were silver lines ready to burst,
I had full faith and bestowed trust,
Suddenly it took dramatic turn,
Sun rays were making complete return,
Sky was lit with bright sun shine,
She stood there smiling for the while,
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Men like dolls.
Work is crucial for living,
as work brings the shilling,
working beyond the normal hours,
toiling during uninformed holy hours,
pawn the conscience in angelic eyes,
freshly made up matrons on the streets,
bankrupted their chastity,
overspent and gone beyond the limitations,
invisible visitors in between temptation,
experience is good and witness none,
God made this body to have fun,
promises are meant to be broken,
Why do make the hearts shaken?
advised not to bring the remnants,
in the forms of body odor,
different cheap perfume,
the dyed and permed strand,
sometimes long and
sometimes short,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Stranded God
THE STRANDED GOD
God is supposed to be pure and good
and is not expected to run a all-vices den
But, in order to adjudge the human mind
He has thrown open a mega mall - gambling ring
under a single roof, in a flood-lit complex on Las Vegas mode
assorted wings, for sinful things, from porno to video games
24 hour bar, sex-parlours, casinos, kiosks, massage and sauna bath
Satan, the Group Manager, is given full in charge
House-full business in all the branches
lakhs of rupees change hands in a fraction
God is amazed at His daily collections
As the people are blind to His scriptures and preaching
God strolled into a church to check attendance
hither and thither a few old and invalid
giving a pat, He inquired them of their prayers
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poem by Santhana Louis
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A Husband
I'm looking for a husband, you know the sort of chap
The kind of guy who copes with things and never has a flap
The one who fixes cars and bikes and often mows the lawn
Takes the kids on Sunday hikes while I with hammock yawn
I'm looking for a husband, you know the sort of bloke
Who listens to the things I say and laughs out when I joke
He'll do the Sunday B B Q and carves the Sunday roast
Then gives me a foot massage, that's the thing I like the most
I'm looking for a husband dependable and true
Who likes to have discussions but never will argue
Can sit in friendly silence, and never has to babble
Will make and pour the tea for me and lets me win at scrabble
I'm looking for a husband; I know they're pretty rare
The kind who opens doors for me and lets me have his chair
And earns enough at his travail so we're debt and mortgage free
But doesn't put his work ahead of caring about me
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poem by Christopher Higginson
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Hair Cutting Saloon
Thick mirrors of transparent glass,
slates of graphite stuck to wall,
big bottles of shaving foam,
flammable containers of liquid spray,
a tetra assembly of royal chairs,
with protruding headrests of cushioned rexin,
fluorescent light rods producing blue light,
arrays of scissors made of stainless steel,
razor switch blades in plastic shells,
brown hairbrush with artificial teeth,
polygonal cans of medicated shampoo,
soft white towels dipped in hot steam,
aromatic hair oil in copper tins,
giant clock hung to wall nail,
electronic hair drier suspended from a jugglery of
wires,
wooden boxes of talcum powder,
tantalizing odour of body cologne,
huge paint brush coated with black dye,
rectangular green tablets of antiseptic soap,
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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Does He Really Exist?
I'm a fictional character.
I don't really exist.
What if I told you this?
Would you believe it?
All this a fantasy of a teenage mind.
That would throw some for a loop?
Look now I'm dunking hoops.
How do we separate lies from truth on paper, when all kinds of possibilities exist that you have missed?
Precision with the facts known.
An exposure requires being exposed.
I'm just not sure I'm ready take off all my cloths.
As tempting as it might seem, I should never let myself fall for that which I know could change at any moment.
With the keen eye of a sea gull I look across the sea.
As I spread my wings and start to sing.
A calling, A seeking, A questioning of the very soul.
With the rules already completely broken.
An sink that no long works.
You must find an alternate source.
To quench you thirst.
A muse will only speak as many times as you ask.
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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A Unique Kind Of Drunkeness
the usual wine
the favorite rhum and the well sought vodka
or martini
scotch on the rocks or you common margarita
or bloody mary...
a glass, another glass, more glasses
an open mouth, more words, a flood of ideas that come when the
spirits stir you to more shores and islands..
you let go things and monsters and angels long stored in your
vocabulary, you're a book with some pages sticking
for you seldom open
only sometimes when things really get rough when the heart wants to speak
because it is too full and your mouth has nothing better to do except to speak,
then the many glasses take you to many places and you face many people
long dead and gone
and you speak to them without fears now
direct to the point
confrontational and you learn how is it to shout
less civil, bursting manners, regrets cracking out like fireworks
and then you mellow down
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dewi Sri, the Goddes of Rice
In the frontyard and leftside of my grandpa house
When the padi harvests and holiday came
I certainly went to my grandpahouse
Where before and after the harvests we have a religiousmale together
We pray and praise the Lord
Through the smoke of incense up and up to the sky
And the wind brought its to people around the village
For avoiding disaster and thanks to
Dewi Sri, the Goddes of Rice (fertility goddes)
My partjob is waiting the rice in the place for drying
firewood, from morning till evening
Till its rice and firewood to become dry
While I saw some people were paced back and forth over the path
Beside my grandpahouse
To carry padis on the back after the harvest
With pureface
After they got part of their work during threemonth
In the ricefields
Wheter they have and havenot the ricefield
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poem by Prasetya Utama
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A Jar Of Peanut Butter
You, Me, And A Jar of Peanut Butter
Friday, April 10,2009
Barren landscape spread shore to shore
Passages opened an unspoiled door
Covered now fertile grounds with peanut butter
Succulent tender treat sounds you now mutter
Cries delight the more you utter
Crazy I know but do I stutter?
Warm yet juicy passion’s pink
Youthful fountains from hence I drink
Dinning on fruits garnished sweet little kitten
Taste no haste love bug now I’ve been bitten
Speaking words I’ve never heard
Singing softly the mocking bird
Peaches delight and O’ so eatable
Quite the storm you are so incredible
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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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