He is fairest dung when his own wand dings him.
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He's sairest dung that's paid wi' his ain wand.
The Great Man Who Ate Cow Dung All His Life (secretly)
everyday
he feeds himself
with cow dung
but this is done
discreetly
for who in this
normal world
would like
to satisfy
himself with
dung
who in this
society would
love a man
who eats and
smells like
cow dung?
of course, he
feared
that soon if
society knows
he shall be
another ostracized
ostrich
electrically fenced
and monitored
and segregated
at Ward 8
for social
rehabilitation
he didn't like dung
reason and logic
so tell him well
but he couldn't resist
the smell of dung
even if it is kilometers
away
there is simply this
obsession for
cow dung
and he begins
to salivate even
for the word
dung
and for so many nights
he prayed
that his mind-set be
changed
so that he can prefer
steak
medium rare
than watery cow
dung
life has its own
idiosyncrasies for
he prefers dung
than barbecue
despite his
genius for good
food
and so
not to deprive
himself of what he
really loves
in his whole life
he eats cow dung
stores them in his
refrigerator
and eats cow dung
regularly
savoring every
fiber and enjoying
that rotten
sticky smell of
rotten grass
and leaves or
hay
how he wishes
that the shrink can
teach him to hate
dung
but this never
happened
he never referred
the matter
somehow
for fear of information
leaks
for modesty aside
he is
a great man
in his field of
endeavor
no one knows this
this is his secret
and i have known this
only about a year & a half
after he died
when i found his
black diary hidden
under the
old creaky bed
because it
smells dung
itself
in his
luxurious house
beside
a river
you know him
he is one of the greatest men
in our history
a philosopher
writer
philanthropist
scient ist
artist
sculptor
a genius
who ate cow dung
all his life
well adored by history
a hero for all humanity
the Renaissance man
as they dub him to be
the man who ate
and secretly loved cow
dung all this life
do not bother
let us keep his greatness
history is always right
do not argue
great men
revered the cow
ate cow dung
and become
famous
throughout the life
of history
their names
written in the pages of books
like sticky
piece of dung
but shits
unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Dump Dung
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
I said,
...
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When you dump dung,
With a stinging that stuns...
It only closes up eyes.
It doesn't open up a mind,
To empathize...
The reason or the why for the doing.
When you dump dung,
With a stinging that stuns...
It only closes up eyes.
It doesn't open up a mind,
To empathize...
The reason or the why for the doing.
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
I said,
When you dump dung...
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When a dummy does a dung dumped.
Nobody stays around but runs to hide.
To leave before the spreading of the stench comes.
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When a dummy does a dung dumped.
Nobody stays around but runs to hide.
To leave before the spreading of the stench comes.
With a finding they've been brushed aside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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As fair greits the bairn that is dung after noon, as he that is dung before noon.
Learning Zen is a phenomenon of gold and dung. Before you understand it, it's like gold; after you understand it, it's like dung.
Soil Service
Inspirit to up so fond
Fetch down that godly wand
Wave and wave so grand
Ring out well the cluttered mind
Over again, again wave the wand
Ring in afresh a soil a land
Set in liquid and gas to bind
Pattern dark and red well tilled
Sandy, loamy, yellow coloured
Grey, brown, black spread
Hill and river and wood
Up and down, side to side
Over again wave the wand
Vegetation and crops all to blend
Over again make rain-falls thundered
Forests and fields be pulsated
Again, again the waving wand
Volcanoes and oceans be befriended
And righteuous human be ever good
Geology, ecology reckoned and regarded
Again, again the waving wand
Food shelter clothe ever offered
Sylvan scene of prolificacy splendid
Stealthy, healthy life humanised
Again, again the magic wand
Not to wave but to hide
In the heart of the alert mind
A promise to conserve all that found
Again, again the promise be continued
For the soil a sacred servitude
Failed if one and all to mind
Impaired soil chucks the wand vanished
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Fairy Blessing
If I had a magic wand-
I would wave it up in the air
to turn frowns upside down
and make laughter part
of everyday.
Ahh, if I only had
a magic wand.
Copyright ©2005
poem by Adryan Rotica
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Chariots Of Fire
The small dung beetles lot is a chariot of fire
For some it is a life of a slinking liar,
To get a wife he has to be tall
Fact is some are dam too small.
To get among the hen pecking lot
The big fellow has an easy choice on the spot,
After a hard day’s work rolling up the dung
He’s off home to his wife for dinner and fun.
The little chap dines alone like a single sire
Now for fun he saddles up his chariot of fire,
He rides off to the big guys love nest without any din
Sneaks past him, up to the loft for his wages of sin.
The beetle chick loves him for his gallantry and guts
Gives him love and dung biscuits in his hand she puts,
On his chariot of fire He sneaks off into the night
Silent satisfied disappears out of sight.
NB. FACT
Scientists found this behaviour of the smaller
Beetles and when dissecting them found the
Smaller beetle had bigger testes.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Infatuation
There is infatuation in cat's mew
It is there in 'cock crowing its own dung hill'
It could be in the whole assembly of people
There There is infatuation in cat's mew
It is there in 'cock crowing its own dung hill'
It could be in the whole assembly of people
There is no place in fact for it to remain stand and still
The commotion of events and the burst of imagination
Did not confine itself into 'archer' of its fashion
If we take its linchpin from the womb of mother
You will not find its glory a bit farther
Its there from nascent of progenitors and race thereafter
Bowing in liturgy and forming into art and passion
That's what we call homo-sapien's passion
Which can go 'acclivity' into newness of fashion
poem by Hafiz Qasim
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Mortal Angel
In the fairest love, in the fairest night
An empyrean angel weeps honey tears on she,
A mortal angel, bathed in white
As sweet as affection an earth banshee
She portent an ominous death to come
To all that listen to all that believe
Some say to all, some say to some
But in ignorance they doth deceive
For all live forever in moral unity
In the soul we don't comprehend
The soul the banshee doth see
As death comes to apprehend
The mortal angel, bathed in white
To make her a star in the fairest night……..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Power
power has built itself
permanently on citadels
you, an ant, cannot take
the place of
their monuments,
look for wood, conspire
with the friendship of the
termites,
the timid worms,
live on dungs, and
begin the song of sorrow
time listens
the storm comes,
tsunamis multiply,
earthquakes, and
floods,
you, the ant, takes only a leaf
to survive,
a grain of rice
will be too much,
a dew for survival,
soon the citadels of power
crushes to the ground
including the king and queen
and their servants,
they all rot,
and you, the ant,
and termites long hiding
on rotten wood,
and worms surviving
on the humus of dung
shall build
for a beginning,
a hill, a path,
a throne of dung.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Apollo And The Graces
APOLLO
WHICH of the fairest three
To-day will ride with me?
My steeds are all pawing at the threshold of the morn:
Which of the fairest three
To-day will ride with me
Across the gold Autumn's whole Kingdom of corn?
THE GRACES all answer
I will, I - I - I
young Apollo let me fly
Along with thee,
I will- I, I, I,
The many wonders see
I - I - I - I
And thy lyre shall never have a slackened string:
I, I, I, I,
Thro' the golden day will sing.
poem by John Keats
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As Was
Mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all
a story told so many times
to eyes so bright, wanting to know
but not the mirror can reveal
the fairest - that's the one
looking at me, feeding my soul
joyful as light, sharing the sorrow
not as is, but as was when hope shines bright
not as is, but as was when filling my dream
Sonnet V: Whilst Youth and Error
Whilst youth and error led my wand'ring mind
And set my thoughts in heedless ways to range,
All unawares a goddes chaste I find,
Diana-like, to work my sudden change.
For her no sooner had my view bewray'd,
But with disdain to see me in that place;
With fairest hand, the sweet unkindest maid
Casts water-cold disdain upon my face.
Which turn'd my sport into a hart's despair,
Which still is chas'd, whilst I have any breath,
By mine own thoughts; set on me by my fair,
My thoughts like hounds, pursue me to my death.
Those that I foster'd of mine own accord,
Are made by her to murder thus their lord.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Ode To A special Friend
Fairest daughter of Diana
dainty a belle thou art
effulgent ineffable Cinderella
if only I could be thy Charming
thy beauty bespeaks splendour
in utmost could be a grandeur
thy poutness
enchants me to hypnosis
diring for a taste of angelic kiss
I'm mesmerized in obssessive admiration
of the fairest of human beauties beyond imagination
from whose crown to sole
not a spot exists
Thou art venus
luminous than the stars and moon
the lilly of my heart
the fairest rose in life's orchard
O! ravishing one
Angel in bodily form
sonorious, sounds thy voice
melting my heart to love
blessed be unto tis day
a goddess peregrinated my way
whose beauty
left me poetising...
poem by Clinton Ekeh
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Cow dung can't be gathered where no cow has been.
Corpses are more fit to be thrown out than is dung.
quote by Heraclitus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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"No Shildren In Der House."
Vagation dime vas coom again,
Vhen dhere vas no more shgool; I goes to boardt, der coundtry oudt,
Vhere id vas nice und cool. I dakes Katrina und Loweeze,
Und leedle Yawcob Strauss; Budt at der boarding-house dhey dakes
" No shildren in der house.
I dells you vot! Some grass don'd grow
Under old Yawcob's feet Undil ve gets a gouple-a-miles
Or so vay down der shtreet.
I foundt oudt all I vanted—
For de resd I don'd vould care —
Dot boarding-blace vas nix for me Yhen dhere been no shildren dhere.
Vot vas der hammocks, und der shvings,
Grokay, und dings like dhese, Und der hoogleperry bicnics,
Mitoudt Yawcob und Loweeze? It vas von shdrange conondhrum,
Dot vas too mooch tor Strauss, How all dhose beople shtandt id
Mit no shildren in der house.
"Oh, vot vas all dot eardthly bliss, Und vot vas man's soocksess;
Und vot vas various kindt off dings, Und vot vas habbincss?"
Dot's vot Hans Breitmann ask, von dime-
Dhey all vas embty soundt! Dot eardthly bliss vas nodings
Vhen dhere vas no shildren roundt.
Vhen "man's soockscss," down here pelow,
Und "eardthly bliss" vas past, Und in dot beddher blace abofe
Ve seek a home at last; Oh, may dhose "Gates off Paradise"
Shving open far und vide, Und ve see dhose "Heafenly mansions"
Mit der shildren all inside.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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As Needless Conflicts Cease
Oh how I wish I had a magic wand.
To lift burdens off backs,
With an easing of those trapped...
In their mental wrappings.
To have heads held high,
And covered with radiant Sun light...
To have a dismissing of all their aches.
With a replacement of joy...
Manifesting in their eyes opened wide and bright.
Oh how I wish I had a magic wand.
And days spent in happiness,
Would go on and on.
With the caroling of Christmas songs,
Heard.
As needless conflicts cease to be prioritized.
'Happy holidays.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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