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More Fun Than A Barrel Of Monkeys
there are multiple questions pertaining to the concept,
'more fun than a barrel of monkeys.'
how big is the barrel?
how many monkeys are we talking about?
how big are the monkeys? Are we talking spider monkeys, chimps, baboons or what?
Are the monkeys old or young and where's the barrel, inside or outside?
If you leave the monkeys in the barrel, you got a problem:
they'll die in their own excrement,
if you lift the lid and let them out,
they might kill you.
a monkey can rip out your eyes, is that fun?
monkeys, leaping and running around the house, can do a lot of damage, is that fun?
monkeys are dirty, so... what exactly do you consider fun?
what's it going to be like trying to get the monkeys back in the barrel?
would that be fun?
what would the neighbors think of you, if you released the monkeys into their yards?
what happens if the police gets involved?
it could mean everything imaginable is more fun than a barrel of these animals.
maybe even more fun than a barrel of human beings.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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The Wind
I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies' skirts across the grass--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Today to me, tomorrow to you [Azi mie, mâine ţie]
In me
And in you,
And in him
The heart sings the same
And weeps and it's grim.
It sings and it cries
Stuck deep in our chest.
It sings in the moment we open our eyes
And cries when our soul goes to rest.
When it sings and wind raves
We shut our sad graves.
When sings full of gloom
We shut our small room.
There is just one whim
In me
And in you
And in him.
poem by Ion Minulescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
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The Old Prison
The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind's mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.
O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.
Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.
Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-
They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now cries
through this flute of stone.
poem by Judith Wright
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West Wind
the wind
that comes from far
through the open door
the wind that carries the fragrance
of the earthy blossoms
the wind that sings the melody
of the nightingale
the wind that cools the hot vapours
i love to sit here
and feel the wind
the gentle caress
of the west wind
poem by Manoj KrishnanSarojam
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Song In The Wind
There's a wind in the air
Filled with song
A gentle voice
Low and long -
It sings life
And it sings time
It blows so easily through
Hearts and minds -
It's the word of wisdom
And the entirety of the ages
Embracing all being
From the audacious to the sages -
It sings out
Lifelong
Continuously calling
In a soulful song -
It's always there for everyone
Blowing free
Even unto our very last day
As it carries us, one by one, into eternity -
It is the Song in the wind
The Voice of the soul
It's the living sound
Every heart mysteriously, somehow does hear and know -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Disciplined
like a disciplined cat
he sits on the chair
on a motionless scale
staring at an empty
breakfast table
an empty cup
an empty bowl
on those empty hours
she expects him to say
meow
but he didn't
in an hour he left and
tells the wind about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You never get quite down to the bottom of the barrel, but we are much higher than that at the present time. There is quite a lot left in the barrel that could be explained by them. If they have some weapons, if they have some anthrax, they should deliver that.
The Black Barrel of a Gun
You say you're going to shoot me up
Yeah, shoot me up
If I don't do what you want
Yeah, shoot me up
While looking over the black barrel of a gun
You say again do what you want or it's going
To be the gun
Yeah, be the gun
If I don't do what you want
While looking down at the black barrel of a gun
Oh, well it's a good thing I can't hear
Yeah, I can't hear
Cause I'm not giving in to wants
Yeah, I can't hear
While your shoving a black barrel of a gun
Oh, yes and I can't see, no can see
When you give me your ultimatum
Cause I can't see giving in
To someone with a gun
While I look across the black barrel of a gun
So you can get your ass on flee
Because I don't see
You shoot me up, yeah shoot me up
Cause I'm not doing what you want
While I look across the black barrel of your gun
poem by Midnights Voice
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Answer To A Child's Question
Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
The linnet, and thrush say, 'I love and I love!'
In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving, all come back together.
Then the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he--
'I love my Love, and my Love loves me!'
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Oh My Heart Oh How It Burns
My heart it sings oh how it sings
it sings alone for me,
my heart within, deep within, oh how it sings;
it sings alone for me
an inspiring, electrifying, arousal melody.
Oh my heart oh how it burns
oh how it burns for me,
beneath my breast, deep beneath, oh how it burns;
within fervent depths it burns for me
a white hot heat; a searing heat; maiming bodily.
There is joy within and love within
awakened wonder seen by me,
there is wonder there, and love found there, within;
such love within it startles me
thrilling wondrous; joy there known; tempestuously.
Such wonder there like thunder there
that thunder threatens me;
I wonder at howling thunder there;
that booms and howls at me.
From between comes, a howling wind, a searing wind,
a tearing wind; that comes; that blows for me;
from out actinic abyss; blows cruel creative wind;
that threatens; inter-dimensional realms; all worlds to be.
A chilling wind a howling wind
that severs my heart within me;
it is a chilling wind, an abrasive wind;
that severs my heart from me.
Though often in my inward innermost thought,
lightning striking frightening;
is rapture held within; fervently by me.
That lightning striking frightening,
is blinding thought not frightening thought;
that seres at sentient; sequential heart in me.
Such is wondrous heart knowing heart,
that booms; howls; reels; calls siren surreal to me.
Like searing wind; from out; terrifying abhorrent abyss;
such is wondrous; wild; untamable heart in me.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Wind Child
The Wind has a voice,
A sad, sweet voice
I've heard it sing
Long and beautiful
Like Wind should be,
Carrying forever
The singing Wind is rarely heard
It's quiet and soft and
Unnoticeable
I am a Wind Child
I hear the Wind as
She sings her sad, sweet song
I am a Wind Child
And I sing with the Wind
Wind Children are rare as
True Hope
Special as Love
Wind Child
Is me
poem by Sahar Alive
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