Dogtown
Okay.
The towns dawning, Im the only one awake.
The streets are whistling, I light my fourth cigarette.
I think of my friends, they were once not so dead.
What are they thinking now?
One day Ill be just a little stone,
Nobodyll know that the stone had such emotions.
Anyway, Im always on the run.
Someday Ill be remembered for the phone calls I never made,
Letters I never mailed,
And stories I never finished telling anyone.
The towns yawning, I let my dog walk me around.
He took a shoot and people smiled,
I tried the same and people frowned.
Yes, its a dog, dogtown.
One day lets be a pair of trees,
Nobodyll know that the trees had such a history.
Anyway, wed never be this lonely.
Someday Ill be remembered for the fine words I meant to keep,
A warm smile I meant to leave,
And a true song I meant to finish writing all my life.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge luck, peas porridge stuck,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets paid, some gets grades,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge loved, peas porridge spoiled,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets laid, some gets slayed,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown, dogtown,
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown -.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Dogtown
Okay.
The towns dawning, Im the only one awake.
The streets are whistling, I light my fourth cigarette.
I think of my friends, they were once not so dead.
What are they thinking now?
One day Ill be just a little stone,
Nobodyll know that the stone had such emotions.
Anyway, Im always on the run.
Someday Ill be remembered for the phone calls I never made,
Letters I never mailed,
And stories I never finished telling anyone.
The towns yawning, I let my dog walk me around.
He took a shoot and people smiled,
I tried the same and people frowned.
Yes, its a dog, dogtown.
One day lets be a pair of trees,
Nobodyll know that the trees had such a history.
Anyway, wed never be this lonely.
Someday Ill be remembered for the fine words I meant to keep,
A warm smile I meant to leave,
And a true song I meant to finish writing all my life.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge luck, peas porridge stuck,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets paid, some gets grades,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Peas porridge loved, peas porridge spoiled,
Peas porridge in the pot nine years old.
Some gets laid, some gets slayed,
Some stays in the pot nine years old.
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown,
Yes, its a dogtown, its a dogtown.
Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dog, dogtown.
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown, dogtown,
Dogtown, dogtown, dogtown -.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
California
I was converted to the other side
From the day I'd gotten there
I met a girl who took me on a ride
I was young I had no cares
When I moved to California
California
She played me records I had never heard
While we toked on purple hairs
Who, Zeppelin, Beatles
Kiss, The Rolling Stones
While we played guitars in air
When I moved to California
California
California
California love!
Venice Beach and P.O.P.
Station 26 was free
Jeff Ho and Horizons west
Dogtown Skates they were the best
Hang Ten, O.P. were the brands
Don't forget the two-tone Vans
I miss the Apple and my schoolyard boys
Nothing ever will compare
But now I skateboard
With my surfer girl
And we really are a pair
When I moved to California
California
California
California love!
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Porridge At The Pub
I had my breakfast this morning at a pub in our town,
But my experience there left my face with a massive frown.
I ordered some porridge, topped with banana and honey,
But, despite it being cheap, it was not worth the money.
With me, the bowlful of porridge was not a massive hit,
Because I found eating it, was like eating a bowlful of grit.
The oats and milk, I found, were far from very well mixed:
Though I'm sure this is a problem that can be easily fixed.
On top of that, I thought the porridge tasted a little bit weird,
So, by me, my bowlful of porridge didn't get totally cleared.
About my breakfast experience, I did not like to complain,
But I won't be eating porridge at that particular pub again.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
His Life, a Porridge Pool
Sitting on a traditional stool
Starring, ripples in a pool
He stirred porridge with a wooden spoon
Ripples, cause of his spoon
Porridge, had become a pool
His life, a porridge pool.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Same Old
Same old sobbing, same old laughter,
Living happily ever after,
Eating potatoes, peas, and porridge,
Then being placed back into storage.
Sliced apart, preserved in jars,
Some severed heads amidst the stars,
Distilled in vinegar on dusty shelves,
Separated- by themselves.
And in the end it's all the same,
A footnote with a face and name,
The same old mob of sad-eyed mourners,
The same old cobwebs in the corners.
poem by Joshua Dinkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Cooking Pot
our cooking pot is not made of porcelain
or silver or gold but it is made of the mud
of this earth
hardened by time and fire and too much
waiting
our patience consumed
our waiting had been too long about this cooking
pot, earthen
where we put all our dreams and cook them
like rice
porridge, all of our dreams
fired by the woods of our reminiscence
our longings our loneliness our daily concerns
our future wishes
and then when the time comes to open
and see and smell what rice porridge is
we say we like it we say we love it
only to be repulsed by this visitor in the house
'this is not cooking! This is not good! ' and he stares at us
and says, we need more fire, more wood, more time
to have the perfect porridge
i went out unable to stand this hunger
unable to see what this visitor says
it is our fault we allowed him in
we open our doors and windows and let him sleep in our room
as we lay on the floors and keep ourselves on the stairs.
'this is too much' i said.
'he must leave this house at once' i told you.
this is our pot. this is our porridge. this is our cooking.
and we must eat. we must love what we have.
'get out of my house' i said.
and then i am relieved from an opression.
i am happier now. My pot is earthen. Its bottom is sooty black.
i am blue. And i do not really mind.
This is my porridge. You may take it, if you like.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Porridge
Why is there no monument
To Porridge in our land?
It it's good enough to eat,
It's good enough to stand!
On a plinth in London
A statue we should see
Of Porridge made in Scotland
Signed, "Oatmeal, O.B.E."
(By a young dog of three)
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two Peas In a Pod
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Panting...
And rushing out of breath.
To be in step,
And in sync with thought!
Never ones to rant,
Neither of them can't.
They have chosen a life for them that works.
Baggage free and deserted of jerks!
And those who have totally gone berserk,
With degrees to academically define...
An absence of common sense,
In their densed state of minds!
Trying to explain...
A dimming light in their brains!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
They don't try to meet
Expectations that defeat
Or deceive!
They don't try to make enemies,
Just to see if they can beat them!
And they match each other,
When the other...
Isn't there to make a pair.
This doesn't matter.
In their minds.
In their hearts.
When such feeling surrounds them,
Everywhere.
Not caring who believes it!
This is theirs and they receive it!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
Panting...
And rushing out of breath.
To be in step,
And in sync with thought!
Never ones to rant,
Neither of them can't.
They have chosen a life for them that works.
Baggage free and deserted of jerks!
And those who have totally gone berserk,
With degrees to academically define...
An absence of common sense,
In their densed state of minds!
Trying to explain...
A dimming light in their brains!
Two peas in a pod.
Each other needed.
To feed a wish...
To be together,
And not mystified!
By those who seek,
To pierce their privacy...
With eyes that pry,
To probe inside!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pink wasabi peas
Pink wasabi peas.
Make me cry.
Pink wasabi peas.
Say goodbye.
Pink wasabi peas.
It’s no lie.
Pink wasabi peas.
Make me die.
poem by Aldo Rino Smiloveux Bell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Scratch My Back
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
One good turn deserves another
Be my love, Ill be your lover
Its all part of natures laws
If youll scratch my back then Ill scratch yours.
If youll scratch my back then Ill scratch your back
Like two peas in a pack, lets get rid of our itch together, hmm
Joy they say is in the giving
Come on give, make life worth living
Your welfare is my concern
Do a favour for me, Ill do one in return
If youll scratch my back then Ill scratch your back
Like two peas in a pack, lets get rid of our itch together, hmm
Scratch me now a little lower
What a feeling do it slower
Thats it, hmm youre getting hot
Well I gotta admit, you just hit the spot
If youll scratch my back then Ill scratch your back
Like two peas in a pack, lets get rid of our itch together, hmm
If youll scratch my back then Ill scratch your back
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A-Shelling Peas
Now, all the world is green and bright
Outside the latticed pane;
The fields are decked with gold and white,
And Spring has come again.
But though the world be fair without,
With flow'rs and waving trees,
'Tis pleasanter to be about
Where Nell's a-shelling peas.
Her eyes are blue as cloudless skies,
And dimples deck her cheeks;
Whilst soft lights loiter in her eyes
Whene'er she smiles or speaks.
So all the sunlit morning-tide
I dally at mine ease,
To loaf at slender Nelly's side
When Nell's a-shelling peas.
This bard, who sits a-watching Nell,
With fingers white and slim,
Owns up that, as she breaks each shell,
She also "breaks up" him;
And could devoutly drop upon
Submissive, bended knees
To worship Nell with apron on -
A saint a-shelling peas.
The tucked-up muslin sleeves disclose
Her round arms white and bare -
'Tis only "shelling peas" that shows
Those dainty dimples there.
Old earth owns many sights to see
That captivate and please; -
The most bewitching sight for me
Is Nell a-shelling peas.
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Compulsive Obsession
The miser sits and counts his gold
well wrapped in rags against the cold.
He has no fire he lacks the sense
He cannot bear to spend his pence.
He dines upon stale bread and cheese
sometimes porridge made from peas
to satisfy his appetite.
His bags of coin his one delight.
He has no friends he trusts no man
for they will rob him if they can.
He lives in abject poverty
to spend a coin is misery.
I do not envy him his gold
a bitter man who’s heart is cold.
I share what little comes my way
I cannot make my few pence stay.
But count my self a wealthy man
The miser save all that he can
and lives alone in misery.
I think that he should envy me.
8-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mushy Peas
Minty green and mean,
Mushy pea clean.
Add to the plate,
Of your best mate.
Mushy peas and chips,
Raised to the lips.
Believe me when I say,
A sensation so intense,
Will leave you, in suspense.
Mushy peas
Minty green, yet supreme.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sugar Snap Peas
Sugar snap peas,
I plant thy rods.
To enable your journey...
With tentacles to grab tight.
In this garden,
You will make home.
Search as you climb and bloom.
Roam and stretch within the room,
You make yours and ascend!
Sugar snap peas...
Near fresh soiled cucumber seeds.
Growing with you slow...
To enhance the sweet organic taste!
Tp please separately,
Or in a fixed mixed blend.
On this day in the month of May.
In late Spring...
The sunset will bring,
A brightness upon your pods.
And ready you will be picked to eat.
Rather cooked or raw...
Under the coming early Summer heat!
Sugar snap peas,
Sweet.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Excerpt –
'This famous wicked little tale
Should never have been put on sale
It is a mystery to me
Why loving parents cannot see
That this is actually a book
About a brazen little crook...'
'...Now just imagine how you'd feel
If you had cooked a lovely meal,
Delicious porridge, steaming hot,
Fresh coffee in the coffee pot,
With maybe toast and marmalade,
The table beautifully laid,
One place for you and one for dad,
Another for your little lad.
Then dad cries, 'Golly–gosh! Gee whizz!
'Oh cripes! How hot this porridge is!
'Let's take a walk along the street
'Until it's cool enough to eat.'
He adds, 'An early morning stroll
'Is good for people on the whole.
'It makes your appetite improve
'It also helps your bowels move.'
No proper wife would dare to question
Such a sensible suggestion,
Above all not at breakfast–time
When men are seldom at their prime.
No sooner are you down the road
Than Goldilocks, that little toad
That nosey thieving little louse,
Comes sneaking in your empty house....'
'...(Here comes the next catastrophe.)
Most educated people choose
To rid themselves of socks and shoes
Before they clamber into bed.
But Goldie didn't give a shred.
Her filthy shoes were thick with grime,
And mud and mush and slush and slime.
Worse still, upon the heel of one
Was something that a dog had done.
I say once more, what would you think
If all this horrid dirt and stink
Was smeared upon your eiderdown
By this revolting little clown?
(The famous story has no clues
To show the girl removed her shoes.)
Oh, what a tale of crime on crime!
Let's check it for a second time.
Crime One, the prosecution's case:
She breaks and enters someone's place.
Crime Two, the prosecutor notes:
She steals a bowl of porridge oats.
Crime Three: She breaks a precious chair
Belonging to the Baby Bear.
Crime Four: She smears each spotless sheet
With filthy messes from her feet.
A judge would say without a blink,
'Ten years hard labour in the clink!'
But in the book, as you will see,
The little beast gets off scot–free,
While tiny children near and far
Shout 'Goody–good! Hooray! Hurrah!'
'Poor darling Goldilocks!' they say,
'Thank goodness that she got away!'
Myself, I think I'd rather send
Young Goldie to a sticky end.
'Oh daddy!' cried the Baby Bear,
'My porridge gone! It isn't fair!'
'Then go upstairs,' the Big Bear said,
'Your porridge is upon the bed.
'But as it's inside mademoiselle,
'You'll have to eat her up as well.'
poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballade of the Glutton
I'm greedy by nature, and often in vain
Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare,
Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain,
Intent on receiving far more than my share.
I worship the plover's egg, tasty and rare,
And idolize fanciful French fricasses;
But what, darling dainties, with you can compare,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas?
I ask for real turtle, again and again--
Observe the Lord Mayor's John Thomases stare!
For kitchen-recitals to Susan and Jane,
And powdered impertinence, what do I care?
I sit down to eat, and I vow and declare,
I'd honour a dish were it made of stewed bees,
Though loyal to you, should you chance to be there,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
I cherish a chef, be he Grecian or Dane;
I even can relish a collop of bear;
I love ev'ry calf--if it boasts a fine brain--
And melt at a pullet, or even a pair.
Though gold's on the table and stately the fare,
I greet a grand entree with almost a sneeze
If you, dearest dainties, are sweet on the air--
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
L'envoi:
O Redcoats of England, who struggle and dare,
Your glory's a morsel no glutton can please;
My yearning is all for a soft-cushioned chair,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Memory to Eugène Terreblancé at Rooigrond prison
This government slammed a jail door behind you,
caged you in like a animal, locked you behind bars
in the prison at Rooigrond;
when this government took your freedom
a potted plant was your biggest treasure
and the grace that you found on your knees
from the almighty Lord God
and between the prisoners with tin plates,
who were continuously making a ruckus,
they tried to devour your humanity.
In the mornings they gave you porridge,
before prison doors slammed behind you,
in the afternoons again porridge and for dinner pale soup;
but still you are walking through my thoughts,
your splendid poems turn and whirl in my mind
as if they are still keeping you alive
and this government
does not hear the cock crowing three times,
the Son of God was also betrayed and sold.
The barbarians that slaughtered you with pangas
already got bail,
(the one as a child is free from prosecution)
and in a few days your killers
(from Mozambique who brought disorder here)
will probably walk free as heroes into the streets.
By some of your own people despised
you were actually right, your own blood that flowed;
on the hands of black people,
stays proof of it eternally
l’Envoi
and somehow the blacks in our country
has totally lost their senses,
where they rob and decimate
the Afrikaner people and Afrikaner farmers.
[Reference: Rooigrondtronk (Rooigrond prison) by Eugène Terreblancé.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Farmer's Wife
From the hodge porridge
of their country lust,
their local life in Illinois,
where all their acres look
like a sprouting broom factory,
they name just en years now
that she has been his habit;
as again tonight he'll say
honey bunch let's go
and she will not say how there
must be more to living
than this brief bright bridge
of the raucous bed or even
the slow braille touch of him
like a heavy god grown light,
that old pantomime of love
that she wants although
it leaves her still alone,
built back again at last,
mind's apart from him, living
her own self in her own words
and hating the sweat of the house
they keep when they finally lie
each in separate dreams
and then how she watches him,
still strong in the blowzy bag
of his usual sleep while
her young years bungle past
their same marriage bed
and she wishes him cripple, or poet,
or even lonely, or sometimes,
better, my lover, dead.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful words don't put porridge in the pot.