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The busy man has few idle visitors: to the boiling pot the flies come not.
His Everything
If one can't laugh at their own faults their is most certainly something wrong.
Keeping yourself from reaching the boiling point.
Oh how does one hold on to such virtues.
With wings he flies.
Painting a portrait of the skies.
Trying explain it all though his eyes.
And sometimes people still people don't understand he does not desire attention.
He is just trying ease his pain, his suffering, his everything.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deep Seas
Deep seas may strike and deliver the praise
Of a monstrous sea, boiling heat has occurred,
Boiling madness has elegantly travelled,
Boiling is the disorder of this monumental wave.
I am deep in thought over the abode in this soup,
The soup of peace and war, a sea so tranquil and hostile,
I would like to stay here forever, to erode the land with it,
Without me and without a mountain to collide with.
Dirty weather arouses suspicion from the waters,
Clean and clear is the river, rivers of ice are cold,
Rivers die and live forming foam from the dear sky,
This sky shall boldly try the patience of the rivers.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boiling Point
Boiling Point
What no shame
Broken Dreams
What no shame
I have come for you
Since I was to die
Boil to unknown sights
Make believe broken dreams
Broken dreams
Boiling point
Point of no return
Fears and dreams disguise
Lifes noose
Can I
Face the chair (electric chair I assume)
Face the chair
Face the chair
Boiling point
Falling to darkness
Where the sky turns red
Turns into stark features
Letting you wish you would live
You wish you would live
What no shame
Boiling point
Broken dreams
What no shame
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hail
the gloomy sky
all night cry
why, why, why?
because you died.
your life was
like the flies
flies, flies and dies.
poem by Jankovic Zoran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time Flies
Aint much time left in my life
I'm all stressed out time to fly
Im on my way
Im on my way
I cant let go
I cant wake up
Time flies...
Flies...
One more step and im falling off the mountain
One more pill who cares nobodys counting
They told me to sing it to the birds
Sing it to the birds
Noones listening
One more step and im falling off the mountain
The mountain sang to me
Love...
The mountain sang to me
Love...
Sitting up on this little bitty hill
Will i make something out of myself?
Sitting up on this little bitty hill
Will i make something out of myself?
I can't let go
I can't wake up
Time flies...
Time flies...
Yeah
Time flies...
Yeah (dont you know)
Time flies...
Aint much time left in my life
I'm all stressed out time to fly
Im on my way
Im on my way
I cant let go
I cant wake up
Time flies...
(dont you know time flies)
Flies...
Yeah
Time flies...
Yeah
Flies...
Yeah
Time flies...
Yeah
Time flies...
Yeah
Flies...
Yeah
Time flies...
Flies...
Flies...
Flies...
song performed by by Puddle Of Mudd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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March Flies
Now comes the time when we douse flies
With various kinds of sprays
The sand flies, and the house flies,
And the flies with furtive ways.
But I keep my hate for the large flies
That come for the tree-lined creek
Those arch flies, the March flies
With a crosscut saw for a beak.
Now, most flies rouse in the autumn
From the summer's drowsy daze,
And they bite as nature taught 'em,
In various styles and ways.
They nip, or they stab or they burrow;
But the fly that knocks me out
Is the March fly, with the dull, dead eye
And a crosscut saw for a snout.
Now the house flies come to the table
Or busily play on the pane;
And our rage and heat they calmly treat
With the uttermost disdain.
And the buzz-flies buzz and blunder,
And the sandflies dig right in;
But my whole soul shrinks when the March fly sinks
His crosscut under my skin.
He's a sneak and an arrant coward,
And the lowest of low-down cows,
By nature ghoulishly dowered
With a weapon no law allows.
And it isn't the pain he gives me
Nor the blood he may chance to draw,
It's the loathsome way that he makes foul play
With his really terrible,
Most unbearable,
Horrible crosscut saw.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Funny How Time Flies
Il me plait d'etre l avec tu.
Je ne sais pas ou ou le temps s'est enfui.
Oh je t'aime mon chri.
Funny how time flies when you're having fun
Ooh baby
Funny how time flies when you're having fun (fun)
Oh baby
I don't know where it all went
Time passed us by
Just when it seemed the fun began
Ooh
Funny how time flies when you're having fun, please stay
Funny how time flies (please stay) when you're having fun, mmm
But time never ends
Let's find the time
To get together once again, someday soon
Funny how time flies when you're having fun, mmm, yeah, hoo
Funny how time flies when you're having fun (fun)
Don't you ever leave
(Funny how time flies when you're having fun)
Don't you ever go
Say you love me so
(Funny how time flies when you're having fun)
Mmm
Funny how time flies when you're having fun
When you're having fun, yeah, hmhmm
Funny how time flies when you're having fun (fun)
Je ne sais pas ou le temps s'est enfui.
Il me plait d'etre l avec tu.
I really don't know where all the time went
I really have to go
Stop, stop
Oh I really have to go
Oh, I really have to go
One more time?
Oh je t'aime mon cheri.
Ohoh, oh
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like the Flies in Winter
like flies at the end of summer/we all slow down as age advances, as age, time and clocks advance/ the coming ocean of time/like London Bridges, we all fall down
Like flies in winter, near a cold white windowpane, who are slowing like molasses. Cold lonliness on one side/white paint chips on the other
Like flies in winter/flies in autumn, who are swimming throught the air in slow motion.
Not so much the flies of summer
godblessamen
like fireflies flickering in the end/we are here and we are gone,
we eventually burn out.
poem by Samuel Stuart Pennell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inspiration
Inspiration can't be seen.
I mean…you can only feel it.
Your wit won't help a bit
So that to convey the feelings,
To create a real art
That comes straight from the heart,
Like a holy writ recommit
God's gift and revelation.
How do I feel my inspiration?
It's not a certain motivation,
But only my emotions
And certain commotions.
Just the same in other words:
Inspiration is like birds or …
It is something very crazy,
Something very lazy,
Something weepy,
Something very sleepy,
Something very heavy
Or impossibly high.
This something
Becomes suddenly light,
Light as a cloud, and flies,
Flies, flies, flies, flies…
Up to the moment it dies.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 8th of September,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Insurrection
insurrection...
or just the pot boiling over,
the plant breaking through the gound,
the leaf bursting from the bud,
the wind breaking down the door.
light breaking through the darkness,
the body breaking free of bonds.
the spirit breaking from the body,
the truth breaking from the silence.
hope breaking from despair,
caring breaking from the calloused....
the individual breaking from the crowd.
the many breaking from the few,
the man breaking from enslavement.
the pot boiling over...
be careful!
you'll burn your hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The United Fruit Co.
When the trumpet sounded, it was
all prepared on the earth,
the Jehovah parcelled out the earth
to Coca Cola, Inc., Anaconda,
Ford Motors, and other entities:
The Fruit Company, Inc.
reserved for itself the most succulent,
the central coast of my own land,
the delicate waist of America.
It rechristened its territories
as the ’Banana Republics’
and over the sleeping dead,
over the restless heroes
who brought about the greatness, the liberty and the flags,
it established the comic opera:
abolished the independencies,
presented crowns of Caesar,
unsheathed envy, attracted
the dictatorship of the flies,
Trujillo flies, Tacho flies,
Carias flies, Martines flies,
Ubico flies, damp flies
of modest blood and marmalade,
drunken flies who zoom
over the ordinary graves,
circus flies, wise flies
well trained in tyranny.
Among the blood-thirsty flies
the Fruit Company lands its ships,
taking off the coffee and the fruit;
the treasure of our submerged
territories flow as though
on plates into the ships.
Meanwhile Indians are falling
into the sugared chasms
of the harbours, wrapped
for burials in the mist of the dawn:
a body rolls, a thing
that has no name, a fallen cipher,
a cluster of the dead fruit
thrown down on the dump.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The statue [Statuia]
Your being nothing wants to let me hear:
Nor bad, nor good, nor bitter, nor sublime.
Your eyes as fine black mica do appear,
Which grace a statue's eye holes all the time.
My dreary gaze is crawling to your cheeks
Like does the sun when polar deserts scales
To freeze among the glaciated peaks
Stuck in its rays like in some pointed nails.
You didn't even guess I cared for thee,
Although my lust was boiling hot in me,
As waterfalls are boiling in their fits.
And my dear soul knocks at your frozen heart
Like someone who is far from being smart
And in an organ without keys now hits.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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True love never dies
Fiddle the riddle
Wiggle with the riddle
For true love never dies
Except those empty white lies
Love never says goodbye
It just flies
Low and high
Fiddle the riddle
Wiggle with the riddle
Perhaps you can unfold
The puzzle of true love not told
The love I know may sometimes fizzle
Then sparkle with the eye of a twinkle
After wear out like an ageless wrinkle
So I hear your cry and with you I sigh
True love itself never dies
True love never says goodbye
True love never tells a lie
True love never asks the reason why
It just flies and flies and flies and flies
Or it flies past you by
2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Toeing To Toe
Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
And it got too hot,
To get your cookies baked to taste.
Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
Now you think you should stop...
Concentrating on your need,
For sweets.
But if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
A cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
Or have some green tea with me.
I'm having crackers and cheese.
And if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
That cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
Add some snuggled hugging....
With your toe to my toes touch too!
Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
And it got too hot,
To get your cookies baked to taste.
Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
Now you think you should stop...
Concentrating on your need,
For sweets.
So if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
A cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
And do some toe to toe with me.
That's if you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe...
With me.
If you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe with me.
That's if you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe...
With me.
If you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe with me.
That's if you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe...
With me!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flying V
Flying V
If you're standing underneath it, you will see when you inspect it
That a flying V is made of flying geese
The pointed end flies in the lead
So when it flies, it's hard to read
You've got to tip your head to see
Flying V, Flying V
It's a V
In the window of a music store, or on stage at a rock show
Now a flying V is made of a guitar
The pointed end flies in the lead
So when it flies, it's hard to read
You have to be upside-down to see it
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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