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I'm going to do my best to do both and die of an ulcer at age 30.
quote by Shane West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have an ulcer. It has an IQ of 185.
quote by Paul Lynde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Envy is the ulcer of the soul.
quote by Socrates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobody should smoke cigarettes - and smoking with an ulcer is like pouring gasoline on a burning house.
quote by Sara Murray Jordan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Phil Osopher
A certain Mister Osopher
Thought life was oh so grand,
Till something tragic did occur
Beyond what Phil had planned!
And all at once his jaw fell down
At what he saw that day
And from then on, Phil wore a frown,
Till God took it away...
Although God knew the reasons why
Life's not a piece of cake,
This man became so prone to sigh,
His soul began to ache...
Then came the ulcer, then the pain,
The irritant within...
This caused the man increasing strain,
He felt he couldn't win...
One day, Phil read a Bible verse,
'Cast all your cares on Him...'
By faith, he prayed God end the curse
And fill him to the brim...
That day, his frown began to fade,
His worry lines soon went,
His mirror showed him undismayed,
As if God was his friend...
His ulcer vanished, he relaxed,
Content to trust the Lord,
So that he felt no longer taxed,
Now God's grace was outpoured...
He preached the Word from that time on,
With stories from his life,
Of how God's light meant darkness gone,
Regardless of Man's strife.
That's why when Nature's might unfolds,
Man builds new homes again,
For once each man God's love beholds,
There's faith beyond our ken...
The centuries have proved this true,
No matter how we feel...
When Phil finds time to speak with you,
You'll see his faith is real...
poem by Denis Martindale
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You're Naturally Good If You Know It
Why not just have a kind heart?
There is nothing to gain in meanness,
There is no salvation in alienating yourself from love,
Hate will only buy you a heart attack or an ulcer,
Anxiety will only make your hair gray,
Stepping on other people's souls
Will merely give you an unpleasant face
And hasten old age and the grave.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Renewed Self After Being Broken By Love's Illusion
you are not my reason anymore
for my arguments
i am my own reason
i chart my own matrices
i situate myself and
then claim my freedom
it is not easy to be weak
it is too inhuman for me to surrender
who are you? a tumor to my brain
a clot to my blood
a clog to my vein
i shall remove you from my system
i have more maps to draw
more places to hide
i am not afraid even if you hold me
i am hard as a nail i am slimy as my ulcer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sentinel
I plucked the brambles
Of the turnpike gates
And stashed them somewhere
Impermeable, deeper
Than any vision
Can ever scamper
And every truancy,
Every missed targets,
Every hapless sighs;
Compensating the ulcer
Of the dying times
Will taut the corona
Swathing my treacherous
Barricades and boring
A myriad of openings
With the grandiose of
A portmanteaux
Where vim would
Seep out eagerly
Rolling a red carpet
For the Trojan Horse's entrée
To my sentinel, my graveyard.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Well-being
Worry leads to ulcer.
Hurry leads to pressure.
Curry leads to cholesterol.
Faith removes worry.
Hopes take away hurry.
Toils reduce cholesterol.
Have faith in deeds.
Have hope in its end.
Work with involvement.
Then you will feel well-being.
14.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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When The Lies Have Been Undressed
Lies hung loosely around ones own neck will eventually get tight.
Like sharks they will bite.
The pain caused can ease ones suffering or destroy entire families.
Their is a right moment for the truth.
A place where it should be faced.
With little hesitation ones heart is crushed and they still smile.
We live in a world full of denile.
Where so many are just faking it for something a little easier.
Why should I project my problems on to you.
Why should I cause you your stress that gives you an ulcer.
Avoiding the unavoidable.
Settling for second best.
When she gets undressed you will see her nakedness and you need not be ashamed.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Great Men
But really you see there weren’t any great at all.
Those may not have stumbled,
heads high, walked tall,
filling the silence where others mumbled.
But words fail
skulls fall.
And before?
Before, they could taste, smell,
see, tell,
bore.
No different from you and me.
This is the way the world comes in
- unless you see the blood spilt
it’s only hearsay.
Greatness.
We have held a glass
over the antics
of a certain class
driven frantic
by thinking that what you cannot see
can in some way still be yours.
We have magnified their lunacy.
If we hold the glass elsewhere,
So long as we have never been there,
we might uncover,
rediscover,
happiness.
You should not wait
to be great.
It’s bad enough you’ve got the wrong direction.
Don’t add an ulcer
to a bad digestion.
poem by Brian Taylor
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Experience.
Experience is a stern pace-maker, and
'Tis on the road to wisdom, that rough way,
So many fall.
Wrongs unrepented and unpunished breed
More deadly growths of that pernicious seed.
Were all men equal, were all dull or keen,
Ulysses or Ajax had never been.
Even as men shut their doors to unkind airs.
Misery in poverty unpitied fares.
I hate effeminate men, she frowning cried;
And I a mannish woman, he replied.
The one white violet's the innocence
A maid knows not she had — until it's gone.
An unclean thought still like an ulcer eats
The life immortal.
Life at the best is what it makes of hope;
Its use or its abuse is all.
Our sweet sins have their own sour medicine,
And that must cure us.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Future
Ugliness in pink flakes
elopes with a terrorist.
Sun bleaches the black scorn
muscles ache with cramps.
Full moon peeps through the veil
of branches. Eucalyptus sways
in majestic conception.
Time to exude honey.
A perfect discrimination against
the trees. A painful ulcer on tongue
bleeds, pure as the malignant pain.
I will not talk about existence.
The shadow of god crops up.
Foolish dolls play the game.
Subjectivity has frills to counter
the drive of madness.
Anguish becoming responsible
to deliver the particles of imagination,
which move faster than death.
Future of man was in peril.
poem by Satish Verma
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Purity of Love
One more night comes to pass
sorrow of one more night banished
one more day of destined life
automatically gets vanished.
lost in oblivion, intoxicated night
remembrance also, getting hazy & blurred.
Blame it on candle and its flame
blackened and disgraced the progression of night.
An ulcer burst, a flower got crushed
hem of the night getting stained
The purity of love
shattering the arrogance of night
washing in the morrow, all stains.
One more night comes to pass
sorrow of one more night banished
one more day of destined life
automatically gets vanished.
(2010)
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Soldier Hero
Soldier Hero
They are so proud of their son, the war hero,
and now they were given the highest accolade,
a soldier can receive, from a grateful nation.
In the great hall they met generals who said
it was an honour to meet the parents of a hero,
they had brought up a fine son, (a post mortem
medals are gentle plaster on the ulcer of grief.)
Music and pink flowers, chocolate cake and
tea; the nation’s president shed blameless and
manly tears, his lachrymose display for us to
admire; pity the hero wasn’t there. Time to go
as low paid cleaners came, ate the remains of
the cake, drank lukewarm tea, and idly spoke
about the weather and the high prices of gas.
poem by Jan Oskar Hansen
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Magda
A friend of mine, who used to be a chef,
was filleting a mackerel when he found
a ring, inside the ring read: Magda 1972.
The golden ring, my friend wore on is left
Index finger. But it chafed and chafed till
Skin broke and he got an ulcer.
Fed up with this and perhaps a little
inebriated he gave the ring to a girl in
a bar in Rotterdam…she looked at
the engraving of the ring and fainted.
It had belonged to her husband who
tragically drowned at sea.
My friend, liked the woman – no longer
a mere girl- and despite her past, he
married Magda, She sold the ring and
with the proceed was able to buy a little
bar, but my friend´s finger turned septic
and had to be amputated.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Suicide
And this, ladies and gentlemen, whom I am not in fact
Conducting, was his office all those minutes ago,
This man you never heard of. These are the bills
In the intray, the ash in the ashtray, the grey memoranda stacked
Against him, the serried ranks of the box-files, the packed
Jury of his unanswered correspondence
Nodding under the paperweight in the breeze
From the window by which he left; and here is the cracked
Receiver that never got mended and here is the jotter
With his last doodle which might be his own digestive tract
Ulcer and all or might be the flowery maze
Through which he had wandered deliciously till he stumbled
Suddenly finally conscious of all he lacked
On a manhole under the hollyhocks. The pencil
Point had obviously broken, yet, when he left this room
By catdrop sleight-of-foot or simple vanishing act,
To those who knew him for all that mess in the street
This man with the shy smile has left behind
Something that was intact.
poem by Louis Macneice
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Machine Gun
Let me speak with tongues of loathe,
Let me bawl without strangling hopes,
Let me share my inconsistencies, and
Let me finally, bleed for me.
The putrid illness spilled into the bland sky
And the days sculled only to plummet down
Because the sun was ousted from these veins
And only darkness can linger into these alleyways
Now, watch me jump into my decay whilst you gyrate
With your blind lust and your gilded patina and rusts
This is the last time I would ever submit
Into the cajoles of your ulcer and fever.
Up until these dead days, I am inveigled to bleed out
The irony that shuts out, now hark: when did you ever care
About the toppling of the quartz? I know a dark limbo
Where the thoughts juggle, I found a parcel of vision,
Where your lonely sea of iridescence flailed from
Her ever pristine undulations, and it provokes you
To the machine gun's hollowed chamber.
You were only a bullet to your own gun.
poem by Norman Santos
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Always The Bride, But Not The Groom
Always the bride, but not the groom
that is what I became
when I went to a Wedding in October.
We went to the wedding,
then along to the reception.
I stood talking to a couple of friends
and the bride rushed in and said to me.
“Dave look after these for me“
She then commenced to hand me
her bridal bouquet and handbag.
One of our friends Donall
gave me a hug and kiss
and asked me to marry him.
His partner Janice grabbed her camera
and took a photo of me,
bridal bouquet in one hand, handbag in the other
and a lopsided smile from the mouth ulcer I had.
Right there and then I became a bride, but not the groom.
20 November 2008
Author’s note:
I dedicate this poem to:
Janice Windle (who took the photo)
Donall Dempsey (who planted the kiss)
Tara (the real bride for dropping me in it.)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jaundice
I found you there, clad fully
In a tawny velvet in the visage
Of the sun seekers espionage
Cringing in the svelte beams
Seething through the yawning
Of the assuaging curtains and
The vestiges of your quintessence
Meander with the vacuous
And suspended breathing,
Fringing the cholera slathering
The solitary holidays
In this robust abode, a turret,
The sooty pockmarks
In the pallid tangerine bricks
Condensed the slumbering veneer
Like a hefty ripple in a cesspool
Garish rays swooned marauding
With prismatic buoying mirth
Rather rudimentary and hollow
Impenetrably shallow
Cleaving vexation eagerly
And the vivid coruscations
Casted shadows aloft that bore
Unfathomable ulcer in the flaws
As the gilded chiming bawls
Rouse and float innocuously
My baleful iron eyes toppled
From the adverse gaiety
Perhaps, I belong amongst the gloom
And the shadow is my mooring home:
A bijou for a wavering wander
Through my frangible walls
Vicissitude galloped in berserk
Digressing and regressing
Without the huff and puff
Of a culpable wolf
On the jaundice creeping
The bewildering mirror
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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