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A Man's World
The world of a man climbs into sin,
His every move becomes his movement,
Like the snake that slithers and burns
Within the souls of asses.
My mobility has a crisis like his,
The running effect creeps up,
But the running has completion,
Unlike the asses.
A unique donkey would go to war
Over a significant rule of stupidity;
But my monster-moves require a blessing
Such that peace ensues.
A man shall sin twice before the fodder
Of asses is stolen by their stomachs,
And so the motions of the emotions
Repress the wars of our conception.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Clown's Reply
JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears?
'An't please you,' quoth John, 'I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.'
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ambition And The Caterpillar
basically it is the story
of a caterpillar
kicking other cocoons
and hundreds of feet
it takes a lot of hard
work not to see what lies beyond
up there
there is nothing, we know it,
yet why?
why this kicking of asses?
why this
blunder and plunder?
we know that at the end
the caterpillar turns into a
butterfly and
flies away and become gone
from our eyes,
yet where? where is it now?
all we see are broken wings
of dust beneath our dirty feet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Members Only
Uncle Larry's hooked on ice again
He seems to be stuck in the 80's
He wears his members only jacket
Cause he thinks it turns on all the ladies
And all the white folks shake their asses
Looking for the two and four
I'll have mine in martini glasses
Cause I can't take it anymore
These are the days of empty kitchens
The rise and fall of Mary Ellen's hairdo
I think she's found a new religion
Studying the Kabalah in her J Crew
And all the rich kids shake their asses
Looking for the two and four
Well I'll have mine with Blackstrap molasses
Cause I can't taste it anymore
No I can't taste it anymore
My friend Greg says it's all good
As the eastern seaboard's blown away
Now everything is going half-price
So look at all the money we saved
And all the politicians shake their asses
Looking for the backdoor
I'll just be hanging out with the lasses
Cause they don't like the boys no more
No and I can't take it anymore
song performed by by Sheryl Crow from Globe Sessions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anal Narcotico
Babies asses profaned
By lustful
Psychopath' penises
Asses from which blood
And entrails' fragments
Spill out.
Inconceivable scream - tearing
Apart ears of the
Criminal
Who wants to fulfill
His sick mind,
Sick of emptiness that
Blows up his brain
Anal narcotic that allows
To unload animal lust.
Small object of orgiastic play
Choking in its yell - by sperm
Of the executioner
Who's got nothing
For his defense - except
Innocence
Raped eyes in deaf scream
Look for death that
Will release from
Pain,
Off "mother's pain",
When they came into
This world.
song performed by by Yattering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up Against The Wall Redneck Mother
(ray wylie hubbard)
He was born in oklahoma
His wifes name is betty jo thelma liz.
Hes not responsible for what hes doing;
His mother made him what he is.
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
Hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Just kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
Well, you know, he sure likes to drink that lone star beer
And he chases it down with that wild turkey bourbon liquor.
He got a 57 gmc pick em up truck with a gun rack
And a Id rather be a roper than a doper bumper sticker.
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
Hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Just kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
M is for the mud flaps you gave me for my pick-up truck
O is for the oil I put in my pick-up truck, drain it out, and put grease on my hair,
T is for tolly parton,
H is for haggard
E is for el paso and
R is for redneck!
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
Hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
And hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Just kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
Where, kinky ?
Where ? right here in the lone star caf in new york city!
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hat And Feet
Hat And Feet
Fountains Of Wayne
I'm just a hat and feet
That's all that's left of me
A spot on the sidewalk
A mark on the street
I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a hat and feet
You dropped a bomb on me
I didn't even see
Like a falling piano
From out of the window
Now I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a sitting duck
That ran out of luck
I'm the unhappy guy
That didn't look up high
I started running when I saw it coming
It got faster and louder til I took a powder
Now
I'm just a hat and feet
That's what 's become of me
Flat on the sidewalk
Stuck in the street
I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a hat and feet
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hearts Made Of Feet!
and so we struggle,
turning in the womb,
choked by the cord.
conceived in darkness,
becoming light!
we are hearts made of feet,
feet that walk the path.
feet that slip and fall,
feet that take the wrong turn.
feet that keep on walking,
sore, tired, hurting.
feet of desire, and purpose,
feet of soulful intent!
all the great philosophies
come to this...
feet that only stop walking
to bandage other feet;
then walk together,
leaving one set of prints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thank God for J-Lo. All of a sudden big asses are de rigueur.
quote by Gabrielle Union
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Asses
'I KNOW where I'd get
An ass that would do,
If I had the money
A pound or two.'
Said a ragged man
To my uncle one day;
He got the money
And went on his way.
And after that time
In market or fair
I'd look at the asses
That might be there.
And wonder what kind
Of an ass would do
For a ragged man
With a pound or two.
O the black and roan horses the street would fill,
Their manes and tails streaming, and they standing still,
And their owners, the men of estate, would be there,
Refusing gold guineas for a colt or a mare.
And one, maybe, riding up and down like a squire
So that buyers from Dublin might see and admire
The hunter or racer come to be sold
And be willing and ready to pay out their gold.
With men slouching beside them and buyers not near
It's no wonder the asses held down head and ear.
They had been sold or in by-ways bought
For a few half-crowns tied up in a knot,
And no one so poor as to buy one might come
To that fair that had horses so well prized at home!
And then it fell out
That at Arva or Scrabbey,
At some down-county fair,
Or Mohill or Abbey,
On two asses I happened
Without duress or dole
They were there in the market,
A dam and her foal.
And the owner, a woman,
Did not slouch or stand,
But in her cart sitting
Was as grand as the grand;
Like a queen out of Connacht
From her toe to her tip,
Like proud Crania Uaile
On the deck of her ship.
And her hair 'twas a mane:
The blackberries growing
Out of the hedge-rows
Have the sheen it was showing,
There kind was with kind
Like the flowers in the grasses
If the owner was fine,
As fine were her asses.
White, white was the mother
As a dusty white road;
Black on back and on shoulders
The cross-marking showed.
She was tall she could carry
A youth stout of limb,
Or bear down from her mountain
The bride decked for him!
Such was the mother
The foal's hide was brown,
All fleecy and curly,
And soft like bog-down;
And it nuzzled its mother,
Its head to her knee,
And blue were its eyes
Like the pools of the sea!
Then I thought all the silver
My uncle could draw
Might not pay for the creatures
That that day I saw;
And I thought that old Damer,
Who had troughs made of gold,
Could not pay for the asses,
The young and the old.
And I think of them still
When I see on the roads
Asses unyoked,
And asses with loads;
One running and trotting,
With harness loose,
And a man striking and hitting
Where his stick has use;
And one with a hide
Like a patched-on sack
And two creels of turf
Upon its back;
And one in the market,
Meek and brown,
Its head to the cart-shafts
That are down;
Eating its forage
A wisp of hay;
In the dust of the highway
Munching away;
Unmarked in the market
As might be a mouse
Behind a low stool
In a quiet house
Then I think of the pair
Horses might not surpass
The dam and her foal,
The white ass and brown ass.
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't know where there can be so many pianists as in Paris, so many asses and so many virtuosi.
quote by Frederic Chopin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Men after the modern fashion, and asses after the ancient.