Home affairs have their staff, which cannot be brandished by anyone but the head of the house.
Related quotes
Mr. Truman studiously avoided giving power to his White House staff that has been characteristic of recent administrations. Staff people in the White House, with no responsibility but incredible authority is one of the reasons we're now in so much trouble.
quote by Stuart Symington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Monster
This monster barbarized with battle cry
The whole of my cubed head, kicking with its teeth.
The culmination was custom of its foraging,
Just to alienate the other liars, the monsters.
Some lethargic ones are imminent in this beaten path,
Eyeball to eyeball we receive notification of the staff.
This ruinous staff occupies my heart so bold,
Glimmering its rubies, twinkling and posing.
The magic of a wizard is audacious and strict like stone,
It broadens my head of the very god of ugliness, a single monster
In front of my head, the bold liar notifies me of its presence.
Instead the stupid creature fetches some terror from the only ruby-
It is the staff of wizardry, “Stick of Strength”, loosening its powers.
Why do monsters succumb to magic or wizardry?
It is because lethargy is their only weakness.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hairfall And Photocopies
You will chance upon
The secret black and white codes
Of my being
Lying anywhere
In the bedroom, or the kitchen or in the lavatory
In the classroom, in the train compartment
Between the keys of a keyboard
On the mouse-pad
In the staffroom, in the caves on the moon
In the snake hole
In our house, in their house
In his house, in her house
In my home, in your home
In the gaps between the words
Among the pages of a book
That makes you scratch your head
Anywhere just anywhere
Obviously I know
Where this road leads
But don't forget
That in my every hair
Is my DNA
Or whatever
After thousands of years
In some rocks
A scientist will discover
My fossilised hair
He can generate
Yet more photocopies of me.
poem by Sachin Ketkar
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New house
Stepping onto the hard floor,
no memories to be shared here,
thoughts are neutral no emotion,
the unnerving stench of staleness,
and unlived in state feels so impersonal,
so uncomfortable,
memories piled high in our old home,
and stored like books in my head,
it feels so cold here,
unexplainable feeling of fear,
no aroma of delicious food flowing through the house,
the rooms are not personalised,
just stripped bare,
dust flies through the air,
it can't be called a home yet,
it's just a house with inhabitants,
it can only be called mine,
but i will continue to see our previous house as home,
it'll take getting used to,
it'll take time,
i'll try and make it feel like mine now,
living in the new house.
poem by Emily Summers
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You can criticize any news staff in some ways, but the one thing that you couldn't call the Village Voice staff was a staff of stenographers, taking notes from public figures and just passing them on.
quote by Sydney Schanberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalms In Poetry - Chapter 23
1 I lack nothing as Yahweh’s my Shepherd!
2 He lets me lie on grass meadows;
To tranquil streams, He leads me by
3 Restoring my spirit that’s low;
In paths of saving justice that
Befit His name, He guides me well.
4 I shall not fear even to walk
In ravines deep and dark as death,
For, You are at my side always;
Your staff and crook are there to soothe;
5 Before the eyes of all my foes,
You set my table well-prepared;
With oil, you anoint my head too;
My cup is full and overflows.
6 Your faithful love and kindness both
Pursue me every day in life;
I make my home in Yahweh’s house
For times to come – eternally!
poem by John Celes
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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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A House Is Not A Home
A house is not a home
and now neither is ours
the day you left there world
left our faces with a throne
and though you were ready
we still wish it didn't have to be
cause a house is not a home
when its filled with sadness and misery
Bickering and arguments
left this family in pieces
as rules and laws are bent
and friends go away like diseases
a house is not a home
if a smile no longer comes
and time no longer stops
a house is not a home
if a heart beat feels like a stomp
poem by Robert Roberts
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House and Home
A house is not a home
Is what has oft been said
When one shares it with no one
And is all alone in stead
But home does not a house make
For without walls there is no place
Nor is there shelter over
When there's no roof for cover
So whether in solitude or company
In real life or fantasy
Both home and house in kind
Need more than frame of mind
poem by Lola Cesini
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Home is much more
I thought of home
As a dwelling house
Where I could lay naked without a blouse
I thought of home
As a dwelling house
Playing cat and mouse with my spouse
But home is much more!
Much more than a place you lay your head
O! where do I begin
Home is within
Home is deep rooted in ones soul
Home is empty if your heart has a large hole
Home is rebirth from childbirth to death
Home is when you make peace with thyself
And return back to earth!
I thought of home
As a bed with a respectable foam
I thought of home
As a place we feel we belong
Recharging our bodies to be strong
I thought of home
As living in no chronological order
With father, mother, sister or brother
I thought of home
Associating it with family
Affiliating it with ones country
Contemplating with the idea
As where one spends Christmas, Easter and New Year
O! dear
But home is much more!
O! where do I begin
Home is within
Home is thy inside twin
Your spiritual interior environment
No one dares enter without thy consent!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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No Home
So many people
Do not have a home
Sure they have a house
But not each house is home
They say home
Is where the heart is
Not cushions and a rug
But smiles and a kiss
They look hard for love
The house walls them in
They embrace the streets
Trying to ignore the din
Where can my soul rest
From the nagging pain
Where can I go to escape
From feeling the loss again?
poem by Samuel Nze
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A Singular Man
He stood on the edge of Beachy Head
But this was not the sunshine day he had expected
It was windswept and rain threatened
He had wanted to smile
‘This is not the way’ he thought
Later in his room he began to question his resolve
So, slowly very slowly, he slit his wrists
The staff found him
At the hospital he felt happy and contented
He was still there
He was alive
The closeness of death’s acquaintance giddied him
It was then he realised that he had visited Beach Head wholly unprepared
He must not escape
He must put things in order
He estimated his life’s savings
He calculated his debt – largely credit cards
He decided to rid himself of all those clothes that we all keep and never wear
He destroyed his address book.
Then he went out for a meal
‘Good scoff’ he thought to himself walking back alone on the front at Brighton
Pebbles underfoot and the Pier’s lights dancing garishly over the water
The sea beckoned
He could hear it from his hotel room and it seemed to say ‘be safe be safe be safe’
And those lights kept dancing
By now, he wanted new rooms
For he had become a rather private man though still gregarious in public
The staff were beginning to annoy him
They had heard of his slashed wrists at his previous hotel
All he wanted was anonymity
So he moved
And moved again
And kept on moving
His affairs, however, were now in good order
So, he could kiss the wind and bless the sun alone at Beachy Head
He was there and then no more
And all those lights stopped dancing.
poem by David Keig
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The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Homeless in a House
I ask you simply, what is home?
A place where kindred people come?
A space where residents reside?
What makes a home a home inside?
I ask you now, is home a house?
Can people buy homes with their spouse?
In houses can a family be
together for eternity?
I say to you, it is not so!
A home is where a man will go
to seek his flames of strife to douse.
A home he seeks, and not a house.
Inside a home a man has love:
From here below, and from above.
At home, he'll be with family
for time and all eternity.
poem by Chris Schleier
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The House That Built Jack
Scorched white by the lowly hung sun,
Crouched underneath the low ceiling sky.
Could burn his fingerprints right off,
Could be his last underground loft.
There's trick draws and the walls are too dry,
The stairs don't go up, the roof doesn't tilt,
In the house that Jack built.
An architect of soil and ash,
He buried and burned what wouldn't build.
The house strong with mortar and bricks,
The home strong, strong as straw and sticks.
Warm if he's willing, weak as he's willed,
The bell can't ring and the flowers won't wilt,
In the house that Jack built.
There's phantoms in the furniture,
In the company of his own ghost.
Trade family for plastic house plants,
Trade your heart if the clock enchants.
Never the neighbour, nobody's host,
Watch your head, mind your step, beware the guilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The labyrinth, he burnt it down,
There's a well but he can't choose a wish.
Etched the blueprints onto his skin,
From his own flaws; thereof; therein.
Unsmash the mirrors, face the blemish,
All work and no play, Jack can't find the hilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The house speaks to Jack and moves him.
Along the floorboards beneath the dust.
He's the shadow the bulbs can't touch.
He's the loft filled with far too much.
His house a temple; In jack we trust.
Home is where the heart, like cement, is spilt,
In the house that Jack built.
Home is where your soul must fill in each crack;
Home is what makes up for what you lack;
Home is what's bringing this flashback;
The house that built Jack.
poem by Ella Veyes
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My Home
I have a home,
It is a safe haven,
Lay a house on the beach.
From far distant I stand,
Sweet memory I recall close…
Stillness of time,
Now as dust, they lay.
A homesick heart I bear.
I softening loneliness I make.
As all loneliness You heal,
My home I shall first return.
Within Your embrace…
My Home.
The longing ever stronger.
To just remain at home.
My stains are too many,
My being untrue,
But truth my home knows,
That home is only with You and Me.
My shelter, My home
My house, My heaven,
A comfort resting place,
Call Home.
A place call Home,
When we stay in,
Live our whole life in this homeland,
That’s my home.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Home Sweet Home
Met this girl called josephine and took her up on my machine
We had a little fun and now we got a little one
Had to get married, being chased out of town
Found ourselves a place to live, we put all our money down
Call it home sweet home, home sweet home
Eleven floors up in a tower block
Happy just to have a home
Ive gone and changed the lock on our home
Nothing really worked out right, things got broke,
They stayed that way
None of our friends came around at night and little sam got
No place to play
Weve got to get out of here, bill she said Ive been telling
You all the while
When I came home from work that night shed jumped out the
Window with our chiled
From our home sweet home, home sweet home
Just a place to take a rest, just a place ot make our nest
-- we call it our home
When the insurance money came through seemed dirty didnt
Know what to do
Took the cash went down the casino, down on the wheel
On the double
And I won, oh yes I won, like I never won before
Bought myself a country house with an antique carved
Oak door
It was home sweet home, home sweet home
Just a place to lay our head think of all those things we said
About in our home sweet home.
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home On a Hill
I travel towards a house that's not a home
My home is on a hill burnt down
Burnt by the love of money and fame
Burning before we crashed
Half dead before we died
He dragged us along to leave us behind
He followed his idols of money and fame
He took us from Olympus to none
We had beaten the horizon
But he turned us away from the sun
My home on a hill was a happy home
My home till he burnt it down
I waved through the window
Said goodbye with a frown
And was told that the new house was better
These bricks and others can be what they want
Maybe the worst would be better
All he saw was a green shade of black
Enough is never the end of the track
We move on and further away
But the house on a hill was a home
Houselessd Or Homeless
Is your house your home or is your home your house
a home is love, caring, sharing, and sweet
home is a place where you can have your own beat
there is no hate, no pain, and no lying
for right now i don't have this place
the place with a familiar face
i am the homeless
but not the houseless
in a house there is hate, pain, and lying
in a house there can be one slowly dying
you have to escape
if not you will suffer the worst fate
for right now i live here
suffering from fear
i am the homeless
but not the houseless
poem by Fred Chamberlain
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A House Without Love
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writer: hank williams, sr.
Capo: 4th fret/key: b/play: g
[g] for years we both have lived on pride, [d7] dear
And we agree that love is [g] gone
Why, oh why do we keep [d7] tryin
A house without love is not a [g] home. [g7]
The [c] lovelight in your eyes has [g] faded
And Im contented just to [d7] roam
We [g] slaved to gain a worthless [d7] treasure
A house without love is not a [g] home.
No matter where our footsteps wander
I know well both be all alone
With the pride that came between us
A house without love is not a home.
The simple things have gone forever
We wanted wealth to call our own
And now weve reached the hour of parting
A house without love is not a home.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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