He who spits towards the sky is spitting on his face.
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Who spits against the wind spits in his own face.
There Was I
(l. stansfield/i. devaney/a. morris)
Chorus:
There was i
Taking every step for you
There was i
Taking every breath for you
And all the time you were with her
I loved you
I spurred you on
Never wanting for myself
Adored you
For what I dont know
Cos you were loving someone else
And now youre spitting in my face
Telling me that someone else
Has taken my place
Chorus
Important
Oh how important you were to me
Eternal
Thats what I thought our love would be
But now youre spitting in my face
Telling me that someone else
Has taken my place
Chorus
And now youre spitting in my face
Telling me that someone else
Has taken my place
Chorus (x 3)
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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May her soul rest in peace
There she was in hesitation
Sobbing for her unhappy life
She was desperate for love
Happiness with peace
Understanding that is unconditionally
They came from all the directions
Places near or far
Dirty or clean
They took advantage for they saw no disadvantage of practising to giving love to the instigated girl
Her happiness was buried
Ten feat underground
Her heart had been ripped of like torn cloth
Her smile was bitter than the bitter est alkaline in the world
Her face was un pleasing as a dog
Her eyes told the untold
They never saw that she needed love and happiness but all they saw was a degraded girl who has nobody
They saw a spitting bowl
A useless girl who has no direction
They never cared
She was forced and overcame by the talks and spits that came out of their mouths
That she had to capitulate her happiness for then
There she was saying may my happiness rest in peace
That was the end of her dreams and life
poem by Malibongwe Bobo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He who spits above himself will have it fall on his face.
He who spits in the air will have it fall back on his face.
Who spits against the wind, it falls in his face.
What? ? ? ?
there are many things still to write
i should have written it directly like pen to paper
without any winding ways
i like to be blunt and candid and
spiteful and they will call me an angry man
a raging sea
a bully,
i stop short of this attack
it is not worth it
what shall i get when they will know about my
complaints?
they will just say, i am reflecting what i have
not achieved
that i am just spitting to heaven
as i am spitting to my face
i am tired, and i have transformed strength to
weakness
i am lost in what i want to see
i forget the beginning and sometimes i cannot decide
where to end
and what to say at the end
it is like this: i am mumbling, i do not really mean what i am saying
it is deep in the night
and i am sleepy and may be
hallucinating and you keep on reading because you are too
reflecting on the
inevitable,
you expect a wise retort? an ending with a clinch
or something?
there is nothing to this. Except
what? ? ? ?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Trails Of A Face
As I travel the trails of a face
two lakes of brilliant blue lay quite
on the foothills of a lonely peak
Great canyons of age stretch long
across the open plains, concluding
in the gaping abyss that spits
forth our soul. All this i see
as i travel the trails of a face
poem by Jackson Taymans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spittoon
Spitting in any form is bad
Spitfire is dangerous
Spit destroy everything.
Spitting cobra spray venom
Unbalanced man spit emotion
Scorn fear condemnation.
Spitupon is not civilised
Spit it out left manything.
Here is spittoon
If you want to be good
throw out everything spit
In this spittoon
And get a bonbon
And get a boon.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under Ice
Its wonderful.
Everywhere, so white.
The river has frozen over.
Not a soul on the ice.
Only me skating fast.
Im speeding past trees,
Leaving little lines in the ice,
Splitting, splitting sound,
Silver heels spitting, spitting snow.
(sonar says...[inaudible]...deep...[inaudible])
Theres something moving
Under, under the ice,
Moving under ice,
Through water,
Trying to get out of the cold water.
Its me.
Something, someone--help them.
Its me.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Defamatory
what you said
was too defamatory
you paid him money
to tell a lie
and he got the money
and told the lie
the lie becomes a snake
with sharp fangs
the fangs contained the venom
and now
it spits back at you
you may not be dead
but i know that you are numb
for more lies
you too has become the snake
that spits the venom
that has grown fangs
now so immune
you manufacture all the lies
in that snake pit
of yours
how can the gods explain
such existence as you?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spitting Out The Demons
Spitting out the demons (demons)
Popping out of holes (good times)
Spitting out the demons (demons)
Coming in the good times (good times do we have)
Spitting out the demons (demons)
Falling out of aeroplanes (good times)
Spitting out the demons (demons)
Come on, it won't hurt (good times)
Come on, it won't hurt (good times)
Come on, it won't hurt (good times)
Come on, it won't hurt (good times)
Come on, it won't hurt (good times)
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Lyrical?
she chops what should have been
seen as a straight line, and we who believe in her
think that there is something strange
i think, deep in my heart that
it is ugly, but those that surround me
believe that what she does like the way she
holds her glass, putting red wine in it, and spitting out
something bitter, is lyrical...
'this is art' she says,
i am attuned to something direct and clear and logical,
and i stand up and say
'that is the ugliest thing that i have ever seen
and i am telling you
i detest it, i dislike it'
i leave, and i tell the world that there is something wrong
with her.
the world claps its hands. the people bowed.
they say, she is beautiful and everything she does, no matter what,
like her spitting at me,
is beautiful, a work of art, a mark of history.
i sit here asking still some questions to my hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the veldt a spitting cobra is suddenly onto me
In the veldt a spitting cobra is suddenly onto me
and before it can strike or spray poison
there’s a rock that comes to hand
and I smash the head of the spitting snake
but where it lies toppled jerking
the grass, bushes and veldt trembles
there’s a curse that it says with its last breath
as if the dying of it mentions something unheard.
The vast earth grind and boil
as if rock banks gnash on each other
when the leviathan with its smoking breath
bursts from the depths
where suddenly sinister it peers at me
and seven snakeheads spit fire.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nightmare New Record Arctic Summer Ice Melt Erodes
face of sweat masks
dire new eroded realities
raw temperature changes
humanity hinges
upon ice void uncharted seas
hot temperature ranges
global melt weather wind shifts
spits warns cyclic devastation floods
drought disaster spectral changes
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rinkhals in Muckleneuk Ridge
We were living in the mansion
in Muckleneuk Ridge
when Heinrich wheeled the
rubbish bin out to the street
to leave it for the collectors,
and the red haired neighbour woman
started to shout at him.
I was just getting out of my Volkswagen Polo
and within a minute I was there
like a avenging angel,
telling her to leave the boy alone
and that the pavement
doesn’t belong to her
and that we have got the right
to put out the rubbish bin
for the rubbish collectors.
She got red with anger in her face,
hissed like a snake trying to spit
and cursed me in English
and I told her to get lost.
That woman was aquatically
quite funny and always dressed
in a track suit,
(as if she had no other
type of clothes)
living in a dilapidated house
like a hermit
with rusting sink plate roof
and weeds standing knee high
in her garden
in that rich man’s neighbourhood.
It was when the dogs
tried to catch a half grown coucal
which the wind had blown
out of its nest
and I jumped down the steps
of some terraces
to rescue the poor thing
and I and that wild bird
got to love each other
and it would start to scream
with excitement as soon
as it heard my car
coming near
that Heinrich trapped a venomous
ring-neck spitting cobra
in our garden
and I wanted to kill it
and you said
that even snakes
have a right to live.
I told you that the snake
was apt to kill somebody
as I was leaving for work
and you took the kids
to let it free in the field,
(or so I was told) ,
but a few days later
that utterly rude woman
was really surprised
and screamed for her life
when a snake hissed at her
spitting in her eyes.
[Rinkhals = ring-neck spitting cobra.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The stone that everybody spits upon will be wet at the last.
If somebody in the crowd spits at you, you've got to swallow it.
quote by Gary Lineker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who spits up in the air will get it back on his beard.