Home affairs are not talked about on the public square.
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Affairs of the home should not be discussed in the public square.
Home affairs are not to be carried on in the public squuare.
I realized that public affairs were also my affairs.
quote by Helen Gahagan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Square Peg, Round Hole
He's a square peg in a round hole
Misfit in a slick world
Don't play the game
Don't do what he's told
He's a square peg in a round hole
Square peg don't care
The bright lights he's not there
Catch the shadows see him slip away
Square peg that's what they say
Square peg, Suare peg
Square peg, you have got to be strong
Square peg, he's got his own song
Square peg, I'll see you around
Square peg, face down
Square peg, round hole
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rejected
WE wandered down the meadow way--
The path beside the hedge is shady,--
You did not see the silver may,
You talked of Art, my sweet blind Lady.
You talked of values and of tone,
Of square touch and New English crazes;
Could you not see we were alone,
Where God's hand paints the world with daisies?
You spoke of Paris and of Rome
And in the hedgerow's thorny shadows
A white-throat sang a song of home,
Of English lanes and English meadows.
You talked about the aims of Art
And how all Art must needs be moral;
I heard you with a sinking heart
And watched the waving crimson sorrel.
For when I found you had not heard
The song--nor seen the dewy clover,
I cared no more to find the word
Should make you hear and see a lover!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The personal thing is something I have never talked about. And I never will. That is prohibited. My job is public. But that's it. When you're not working, you don't have an obligation to be public.
quote by Javier Bardem
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who doesn’t know how to be a servant should never be allowed to be a master; the interests of public life are alien to anyone who is unable to enjoy others' successes, and such a person should never be entrusted with public affairs.
quote by Anton Chekhov
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Band Concert
Band concert public square Nebraska city. Flowing and circling dresses, summer-white dresses. Faces, flesh tints flung like sprays of cherry blossoms. And gigglers, God knows, gigglers, rivaling the pony whinnies of the Livery Stable Blues.
Cowboy rags and nigger rags. And boys driving sorrel horses hurl a cornfield laughter at the girls in dresses, summer-white dresses. Amid the cornet staccato and the tuba oompa, gigglers, God knows, gigglers daffy with life’s razzle dazzle.
Slow good-night melodies and Home Sweet Home. And the snare drummer bookkeeper in a hardware store nods hello to the daughter of a railroad conductor—a giggler, God knows, a giggler—and the summer-white dresses filter fanwise out of the public square.
The crushed strawberries of ice cream soda places, the night wind in cottonwoods and willows, the lattice shadows of doorsteps and porches, these know more of the story.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Things in vague
Mind is talked about but not located.
Heart is talked about but not ascertained.
Ghosts are talked about but not captured.
God is talked about but in ‘faith' bracket.
We find it delightful to talk about
Things about which we are not certain.
14.06.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm not a very serious person. You know how they say that clowns are very funny in public and are really sad at home? I'm really kind of stupid at home and more serious in public.
quote by Roland Joffe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Involvement in public affairs is a legitimate use of celebrity.
quote by Ron Silver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No man should ever lose sleep over public affairs.
quote by Harold MacMillan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sad State Of Affairs
It’s a sad state of affairs
When you start to loose your friends
No one there to show they care
You even miss them driving you round the bend
It’s a sad state of affairs
When your ego is your compadre
He whispers in your ear 'you’re right and fair
You don’t need them, pay attention to what I say'
It’s a sad state of affairs
To know your smarter then those around you
What’s the point me going to your lair?
You speak nonsense but to you it sounds true
It’s a sad state of affairs
To have nothing going on in your life
Inside you’re dying to get up off the chair
But lack of motivation is your new strife
It’s a sad state of affairs
When you can’t even pay your bills
But to be honest do you even care?
Give me alcohol, shrooms and more pills
It’s a sad state of affairs
To not remember the years growing up
Except the fights between your family and your frère
Makes you think 'I could jump into that slowing truck'
It’s a sad state of affairs
When your writing is what you confide in
Teenage angst mixed with an adults raging stare
On this mountain of life I see people climbing
It’s a sad state of affairs
When you realise you’re the one slipping and sliding
poem by Kaspa Richards
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Sects Therapy
Lead vocal: frankie howerd
I was lonely and depressed
Having fled the family home
When I met an old acquaintance
I had only barely known
And I told her over tea
Of my worries and my woes
And a morbid fear of eating beans
In tightly fitting clothes
And she said psychoanalysis was just the thing for me
And she knew a mayfair analyst I really ought to see
So I went round to his rooms
And he saw me right away
Though he asked a sum of money I could ill afford to pay
But I lay down on the couch
By a bowl of flaccid flowers
And I talked and talked and talked and talked
For hours and hours and hours
And he told me tales of oedipus with great authority
And he asked me if my mother
Wore stiletto heels and rubber
And I realised that this poor soul
Was more confused than me
Well the shock was so profound
That I fled into the strand
Where I saw a hare krishna group
And joined in with the band
This was just the life for me
Free of worldly goods and care
And I chanted and I ranted
Round and round trafalgar square
I converted tens of thousands and they joined us then and there
But the bagwan was so jealous
That he called me over zealous
Then he threw me out
When I refused to cut off all my hair
(dr. ruth, dr. ruth, why not write to dr. ruth? )
So I wrote to dr. ruth
And she helpfully proposed
I should join a nudist colony
And throw away my clothes
All that sun upon my flesh
Would set my libido free
And would guarentee much more of it
Whatever it may be
But I dont feel that I was quite equipped for such a life
Fair of skin just like my sisters
Too much sun would give me blisters
So I think Ill turn the whole thing in
And go home to the wife
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Square Wave In Unison
Made a noise invented a sound
When brian wilson used it a hit was found
If only I could have imagined
The square waves running through his head
Square wave - people couldnt believe it
Square wave - all the way to carnegie hall
Square wave
One rod for pitch
Electro magnetic fields
Wired up sing sing
Hung out with einstein
For all all of his brilliant innovation
Sent off to a siberian reservation
Square wave - people couldnt believe it
Square wave - all the way to carnegie hall
Square wave
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Hopes To Them An Attention Is Given
I am not one into pretense.
Or those with expertise in playing,
Self-victimization games.
With a determination to place fault.
And a seeking someone to blame.
Nor am I into petty.
Petty people quickly peep,
Into affairs not theirs.
With embellishing exaggerations.
In the hopes to them an attention is given.
And for some reason these people believe,
Their childish ways are attractive.
With accusations on their lips,
To find something done to them offensive.
And create it to share if not there.
I am not one into pretense.
Or those with expertise in playing,
Self-victimization games.
And I accept being portrayed,
As stand-offish.
Since petty people quickly peep,
Into affairs not theirs.
And my affairs are my own business.
Private and peaceful,
To keep away from public ears.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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18 Square Miles
The place is only eighteen square miles.
And is the home of over four thousand gang members.
Some segments of it,
Look as if negligence is tolerated.
And decadence celebrated.
The place is only eighteen square miles.
And sits in a state that use to brag about its affluence.
Clearly with ignorance to salivate.
As disrespect for others is shown...
And lack of discipline and illiteracy,
Considered top rate and obviously condoned.
The place is only eighteen square miles.
With hidden pockets of poverty.
Neighborhoods are divided,
Into sections like an apartheid.
With those who control this...
Absent of vision and intelligence free.
The place is only eighteen square miles.
With racism practiced as a way of life.
And those who inflict their bigotry,
See themselves in a self righteous light.
The place is only eighteen square miles.
And the affects of hunger and homelessness,
Is as protected as the theft that goes on.
The place is only eighteen square miles,
Of illogical standards valued.
Eighteen square miles,
Of blinded physical and mental abuse!
Reflecting a nation,
Unraveling from the inside.
And using those victimized as an excuse.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The price good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.
Picture Dealer
There were twin artists A. and B.
Who painted pictures two,
And hung them in my galley
For everyone to view;
The one exhibited by A.
The name "A Sphere" did bear,
While strangely brother B's display
Was catalogued: "A Square".
Now although A. (and this is queer)
Could squeeze a pretty tube,
The picture that he called a Sphere
Was blocky as a cube;
While B. (though no hint he disclosed
To pull the public leg)
The Square he placidly exposed
Was oval as an egg.
Thought I: To sell these pictures two
I never will be able;
There's only one thing I can do,
That's change around the label.
The rotund one I called a Sphere,
The cornered one a Square . . .
And yet, I thought: It's very queer,
Unbought they linger there.
Then strange as it may well appear,
Derision did I bare,
And blandly dubbed the Square a Sphere
And tabbed the Sphere a Square.
Behold the answer I had found,
For to my glad dismay
The curious came crowding round:
A sold the daubs next day.
Well, maybe A. and B. were right,
Not mugs like you and me,
With something missing in our sight
That only artists see.
So what it is and what it ain't
I'll never more discuss . . .
These guys believe in what they paint,
Or . . . are they spoofing us?
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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