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Want i' want i', cyaa get i' an' get i' get i', no want i'.
If yu cyaa tek di heat, get out a di kitchen.
New Words They Said
89 on his back caught
a football and run, run
chase by everybody
cornerback on goal line
somersaulted and landed
on his feet; what a rupture
tebow that, he has end game
four interceptions isn't pretty
nor bungabunga for fans
ubeki beki beki stan stan
oh! baby baby baby nice tan
could be one of candidates
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Stanley's Plight
When Stan came back
to work last Monday
his tool box
wasn’t to be found.
Look and look he surely did
but it wasn’t on the ground.
Yet poor old Stan - did search and search
around & round & round.
He was a little muddled
he probably would be still
if Zub he hadn’t seen
he would be raging still.
When all at once he heard a cry
his tools could be found up high.
He took a ladder and with haste
was up it like a race,
but when he next looked at that space -
the ladder was gone, without a trace.
Rant and rave he may as well
for Stan could only fume
yet it wasn’t long at all my friend
until he was on the moon.
For there at last his pride and joy
among the years of dust and gloom.
Now our man Ouggy was no mug
though capable of a fierce bear hug.
Swiftly he did grasp a length of rope
without it even he, was without hope.
Around his brown toolbox
he tied his knot;
and proceeded promptly to lower it down
till he had it safely, on the ground.
Yet alas, at this stage his luck went sour
it was not to be his finest hour.
Upon the scene appeared two goons
‘twas lecherous Lewis and his side-kick Craig
they were about to steal the stage
or should I say, the precious box?
Now Stan up high still was stuck
when they ran off with his hard-won luck.
Remembering back I can see it still
Stan roaring off like an Elephant Bull
chasing lecherous Lewis and sneaky Craig;
like a gleeless Elephant Mother
chasing off after her missing cow.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Empty Sky
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Schrodenger's Cat
Fifty-fifty is the probability
That the cat or even we exist,
After the atom splits;
Whether the cyanide gas turns us blue or sets up a clue
Not to open the box
And observe a cat
That is not there.
There is always the chance
(However small)
That we repeat the experiment,
Once, twice or infinitely,
Ourselves throwing the dice;
And live on forever after,
Opening an empty box,
And patting lively kitty on her head.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Ducktail Called Stan
There was a man they called Stan the ducktail,
a well build biker with very long hair,
his real name could have been Sam
or Dick or Dirk
no one really still knows
but he carried chains
and knuckle-dusters
that he used as fighting tools
(and sometimes his bare fists did the thing)
whenever a game of cards, pool, snooker
or even darts did not go straight
he took a swing
and rumour had it that he had even
knocked some cops through shop windows,
had send them straight to hospital
he was a hippie in the time
that free love and marijuana
was in some circles acceptable
and this bloke had many friends,
a gang full of them
that used to party with him
with chicks near Brakpan dam
drinking champagne, beer and cane,
or whatever liquor
they could lay their hands on
and to all the schoolboys Stan
was the man, the archetype
of what they wanted to become
what they used to call:
“a mean fighting machine, ”
and some parents did not want them
to associate with what they called
ducktail scum, even went as far
as warning the kids in the Sunday school
against Stan, hippies and ducktails in general
and to live a honest respectable life
and held a prayer meeting
where they begged God to intervene
in the life of Stan
and to this day they believe that He did
and one day just to have some fun
Stan was breaking shop windows
in the main street, waiting on the police
to come and meet him
with drawn batons and fists
and the big well build expected six
were hanging back
and a young lean cop walked right up to him,
tried to make an arrest
and the rest is history.
Stan smiled at the young man
lifted his huge right fist,
but it went right over the cop’s head
and he got one hell of a punch
on his own jaw instead,
was knocked right from his feet,
landed unconscious in the street,
waked up cuffed in a police cell
and it was totally beyond him
that a small lean policeman
had given him a beating
and it was the last trouble
that the town, the police and people
in the local hotels and bars
ever had with Stan
and what had become of him
no one knows.
poem by Gert Strydom
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That's The Way To Do It (aka Odd Job Man)
Now I've been here and I've been there
And I've been almost everywhere
There's not a thing I can't repair
Cos I'm Stan, Yes I am
The odd job man
I'm a tradesman, I know all the tricks
There's not a thing that I cannot fix
Beginners use my concrete mix
I'm Stan yes I am, The odd job man
Well, thats the way to do it
Just be as quick as a flash
Don't hang about
Just in and out
And always ask for cash
Any job that you want done
Phone me up cos Im the one
Electrical, plumbing, woodwork too
I'll do the job that's right for you
Well, that's the way to do it
Just be as quick as a flash
Don't hang about
Just in and out
And always ask for cash
I've never done the same job twice
Listen to me take my advice
I'll double the work for half the price
The finished job will look, look nice
I've been around and had some fun
There's not a job that I've not done
No unemployment where I'm from
Jack of all trades, master of none
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Old Houses
Empty Old Houses
Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it
Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it
Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them
Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them
Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them
Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life
Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them
poem by David Whalen
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Thats The Way To Do It
Now Ive been here and Ive been there
And Ive been almost everywhere
Theres not a thing I cant repair
Cos Im stan, yes I am,
The odd job man
Im a tradesman, I know all the tricks
Theres not a thing that I cannot fix
Beginners use my concrete mix
Im stan yes I am, the odd job man
Well, thats the way to do it
Just be as quick as a flash
Dont hang about
Just in and out
And always ask for cash
Any job that you want done,
Phone me up cos Im the one
Electrical, plumbing, woodwork too
Ill do the job thats right for you
Well, thats the way to do it
Just be as quick as a flash
Dont hang about
Just in and out
And always ask for cash
Ive never done the same job twice,
Listen to me take my advice
Ill double the work for half the price
The finished job will look, look nice
Ive been around and had some fun
Theres not a job that Ive not done
No unemployment where Im from
Jack of all trades, master of none
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty time, empty place. Empty heart, empty space.
Empty time, empty place.
Empty heart, empty space.
Give a little, fight a war
Take a lot, there is more.
Left to die, all alone.
Blackened sins to atone.
In a place by a stream,
in a dark, empty dream.
In a room candles glow.
Truth prevails if you know.
Something sweet and something blue.
Something with a natural hue.
Time/Sand
The sundial spells remorse;
The sands in the hourglass,
Half empty, half full,
Prepare defeat,
Dividing the northern and
Southern hemispheres-
Extinct, non-extant time-
Travels of my feet.
Dispels relief.
Dry, dry is the desert
Of the triumphant return of the
Hero, even anything sweet:
Death, dearth, love,
Instant jaw burial,
Scientific discovery,
You & I lying awake,
And fearing nothing
But the future
Anew.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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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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Icing Sugar
Your delicious
Dreaming
Slack jawed
Green eyed
Rub my nose in
Icing sugar
Smooth as
When this cold and deadly
Blade
Kissed the fruit
So soft
And gently breathing
Under your skin
Oh i'll empty you
I'll empty you
As empty as a boy can be
As empty
As a boy can be
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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