He's sairest dung that's paid wi' his ain wand.
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He is fairest dung when his own wand dings him.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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102
First one paid nine
then, two paid eight
then three paid seven
then, four paid six
then five paid five
then six paid four
then seven paid three
then eight paid two
and finally, nine paid one,
wee, wee, wee, wee, wee
all the way home.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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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.
Don't judge by adulation.
Paid news, paid degrees, paid titles,
Paid awards, paid felicitations
And the strategic moves count.
The bought judgment culminates all..
09.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Mr. Bernanke!
Oh Mr. Bernanke
Are we going to have that Rate-cut today?
Aha, you are the candy-man
Could wave your wand
Make the dying Market stand.
Ah, but it ain’t working anymore
The Market is a falling man
Oh Mr. Bernanke
You wave your wand
But it’s fallen over the stands!
Oh Mr. Bernanke
Swayed the Market just your own way!
But banks aren’t making money
The cuts to them are one too many
Candy-man, the Market won’t stand!
Got my only heifer and sacrificed
At the altar of Dow and Nasdaq, paid a high price
The Dow, oh it fell through the Year’s low
Now here I come, Candy-man
Look through your store
We need something more!
poem by Dennisa Davidson
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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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I Paid The Price
See notes below
Well Im sick and tired
Of your alibis,
And your indiscreet lies
Just wont get you by,
Over and over and over and over again.
And your family,
Your forced superiority,
Your azure delusions of grandeur,
Are gonna cut you free,
Over and over and over and over again.
Youre as cold as ice.
Ahh, youre not miss nice,
And I paid the price.
Ahh, you can count me out.
Oh, without a doubt,
I paid the price.
And up and down, round, round you go,
But you know one monkey
Dont stop no show.
Its plain to see
Youre in need of help,
But I just cant go on
And whip myself
Over and over and over, over again.
Ahh, you can count me out.
Ahh, without a doubt,
You know, I paid the price.
Ahh, youre not miss nice.
Youre as cold as ice,
And I paid the price.
Yes I did.
You know I did.
And I just wanna know
Whos your sponsor.
I just wanna know, oh,
I just a-wanna know, oh,
I just a-wanna know, oh,
Whos your angel.
{backup singers} [i paid the price.]
Sing the song.
[i paid the price.]
[i paid the price.]
[i paid the price.]
And dont discriminate your angel.
[i paid the price.]
And dont discriminate your sponsor.
[i paid the price.]
And be good to your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Bow down to your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Hey, hey!!
[i paid the price.]
Dont discriminate your angel.
[i paid the price.]
And dont discriminate your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Dont discriminate your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Dont discriminate your sponsor.
[i paid the price.]
Bow down to your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Bow down to your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Bow down to your angel.
[i paid the price.]
Uhh, be good!
[i paid the price.]
Be good to your angel.
[i paid the price.]
I tried for to blow it. (? ? )
[i paid the price.]
I tried for to blow it (? ? ), one more time.
[i paid the price.]
I tried for to blow it (? ? ), one more time.
[i paid the price.]
If you blow it one more time, I say,
[i paid the price.]
Oh, youre as
Cold as ice,
And youre not miss nice,
And Ive definitely
Paid the price.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Vacuous Space
Space in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
And the winners,
Had been the merchants...
Breathing royalty,
On 5th Avenue!
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
And the bleeding of the people....
Had been seen from their limousines!
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
And It's an off beat situation,
To see the homeless
Pushing carts...
Up on these scenes!
Space in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
Vacuous space...
In the head,
Once getting paid to lead!
And the trickling of this meanness...
Is a payback for those,
Who had chose to steal
Away sweet dreams!
Vacuous meetssssspace in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead!
It's an off beat situation
Getting fixed...
As the kings are dragged
Screaming
With tainted hands
Bitten and bloodied
By those they chose
To live in tattered clothes
Hungry and suffering
Squeezed from the cream
That was theirs all the time
By such crooked deeds!
Space in the head,
Once getting PAID to lead.
Vacuous space...
In the head,
Once getting paid to lead!
And the winners,
Now are the losers
Once the merchants...
Living to scheme,
And breathing royalty,
Like leeches!
On 5th Avenue.
And the winners?
Now are the losers...
Picked by people,
Just as greedy
As the ones they knew!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Corpses are more fit to be thrown out than is dung.
quote by Heraclitus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cow dung can't be gathered where no cow has been.
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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Why drive away fowls from the dung you do not eat yourself?.