Related quotes
Beginning of destruction
pride it’s all your fault
Pride it’s all your fault we in this mess
Pride it’s all your fault we are suffering
Pride it’s all your fault people are shedding blood
Pride it’s all your fault families are destroyed
Pride it’s all your fault people are so greedy and selfish
Pride it’s all your fault people have no love
Pride it’s all your fault are so jealous of each other
Pride it’s all your fault people are so lost
Pride it’s all your fault dying from this horrible diseases
Pride it’s all your fault we have so many orphans
Pride it’s all your fault people are betraying each other
Pride it’s all your fault are dying of hunger
Pride it’s all your fault fathers are sleeping with their children
Pride it’s all your fault people are so heartless
Pride it’s all your fault there is no peace, unity and harmony in this world
Pride it’s all your fault we have all this sorrow
Pride it’s all your fault God has rejected us
Pride it’s all your fault people are so evil
And they have decided to be in love with evil rather than good
You have ruined this world
You are to blame for all this misery
If lucifer did not have pride in his heart we wouldn’t be in this mess
Pride it all your fault! ! !
Vangile Mtyali
poem by Vangile Mtyali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The hunger
the hunger thinks the rice
can chew both skin and bone
the hunger thinks it's nice
to eat although forlorn
the hunger thinks the corn
can swallow ears and eyes
deaf blind hunger born
self eaten within it dies
the hunger thinks the food
is just a body's unfair breath
the hunger knows the interlude
no food the body eats itself
the hunger thinks the body rotten
is just a place to survive and eat
the hunger of the lost and forgotten
makes its way to the last heart beat
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Corn Circles
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Nobody knows where they come from
Nobody understands
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
No one knows - are they phony
Or maybe are they real?
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Is somebody playing a trick?
Corn circles
Pixies, witches, hoaxers
Take your pick
Throw a few theories out there
See what sticks!
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Patterns in the gold
Corn circles
Pretty patterns in the gold
Like something out of the future
Or something very old
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Keep A Shrill Unending
I see it in your face...
Baybee,
I see it in your face...
Pretty when you're giving lickings.
I see it in your face...
Baybee,
I see it in your face...
Pretty when you're giving lickings.
You don't want to listen,
When your pretty giving lickins.
All you want to do is find a fault.
All you want to do is find a fault.
You don't want to listen,
All you want to do is find a fault.
All you want to do is find a fault.
To begin the stinging.
All you want to do is find a fault.
To keep a shrill unending.
All you want to do is find a fault,
To begin the stinging.
All you want to do is find a fault,
To keep a shrill unending.
You don't want to listen,
All you want to do is find a fault.
I see it in your face...
Baybee,
I see it in your face...
Pretty when you're giving lickings.
I see it in your face...
Baybee,
I see it in your face...
Pretty when you're giving lickings.
Baybee,
All you want to do with me is find a fault.
Baybee,
All you want to do with me is find a fault.
Baybee,
All you want to do with me is find a fault.
Baybee,
All you want to do with me is find a fault.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Hunger
Its never your fault, sweet mother
That I was raised in the days
Of the house-husband craze
But the taste of your loving udder
Was replaced by another
Dried cow puss and rubber
And now a hunger still thrives
A hunger that Ive never satisfied
Im fumbling through life
From hunger
I writhe for someone
With a place I can hide my eyes
Im searching for a mighty heart
Housed with a mighty crest
And from this base of operation
I would pacify the nation
But then who would rely
On a boob such as i
Ill be anyones twit
For a mouthful of tittie
And still that hunger will thrive
A hunger that Ive never satisfied
Im fumbling through life
From hunger
I writhe for someone
With a place I can hide my eyes
And Ive got big eyes
For someone
With a place I can hide these eyes
And that aint all
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Barley-Corn, My Foe
John Barley-corn, my foe, John,
The song I have to sing
Is not in praise of you, John,
E'en though you are a king.
Your subjects they are legion, John,
I find where'er I go:
They wear your yoke upon their necks,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
By your despotic sway
The people of our country, John,
Are suffering to-day.
You lay the lash upon their backs;
Yet willingly they go
And pay allegiance at the polls,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
You've broken many a heart,
And caused the bitter tear, John,
From many an eye to start,
The widow and the fatherless
From pleasant homes to go,
And lead a life of sin and shame,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
May Heaven speed the hour,
When Temperance shall wear the crown
And Rum shall lose its power;
When from the East unto the West
The people all shall know
Their greatest curse has been removed,
John Barley-Corn, my foe!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Women's song of the corn
How beautiful are the corn rows,
Stretching to the morning sun,
Stretching to the evening sun.
Very beautiful, the long rows of corn.
How beautiful is the white corn,
I husk it,
I grind it.
Very beautiful, my white corn.
How beautiful is the red corn,
I gather it and make fine meal,
I am glad doing this.
Very beautiful, my red corn.
How beautiful is the black corn,
I give it to my father,
To my mother,
I give it to my child.
Very beautiful, the black corn.
How beautiful is the mottled corn,
Like the sky with little clouds,
I eat it looking at the sky.
Very beautiful, my mottled corn.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not All Me
I rather face all on top of my face
I am the perfect target screen
For your blindly fueled rage
I bare the brunt of your long buried pain
I don't mind helping you out
But I want you to remember my name
It's not all me
It's not all my fault
I need remind you, but I won't take it all on
Past riddled rage
I see the buttons I engage
Is my dignity in place?
I'm all too happy to switch
It's not all me
It's not all my fault
I need remind you, but I won't take it all on
Lest I find my voice
Find the strength to stand up to you
Lest I stay to my limit
And only take on what is mine to
We are a team
I'm here to help mend and rescind
All I trigger unknowingly
A job I hold in high esteem
It's not all me
It's not all my fault
I need remind you, but I won't take it all on
It's not all me
It's not all my fault
I need remind you, but I won't take it all on
I'll only take some of it
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I find fault with my children because I like them and I want them to go places - uprightness and strength and courage and civil respect and anything that affects the probabilities of failure on the part of those that are closest to me, that concerns me - I find fault.
quote by Branch Rickey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Find fault when you must find fault in private, and if possible sometime after the offense, rather than at the time.
quote by Sydney Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wanting, not the want is the cause.
Hunger for porridge, hunger for desserts,
Or hunger for wine makes one steal.
Hunger for shelter, hunger for power,
Or hunger for sex makes one steal.
Hunger dies not. So is the stealing.
19.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harvest Song
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them.
And I hunger.
I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry.
I hunger.
My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack'd fields of other harvesters.
It would be good to see them . . crook'd, split, and iron-ring'd handles of the scythes. It would be good to see them, dust-caked and blind. I hunger.
(Dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in.)
My throat is dry. And should I call, a cracked grain like the oats...eoho--
I fear to call. What should they hear me, and offer me their grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? I have been in the fields all day. I fear I could not taste it. I fear knowledge of my hunger.
My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other harvesters whose throats are also dry.
It would be good to hear their songs . . reapers of the sweet-stalk'd cane, cutters of the corn...even though their throats cracked and the strangeness of their voices deafened me.
I hunger. My throat is dry. Now that the sun has set and I am chilled, I fear to call. (Eoho, my brothers!)
I am a reaper. (Eoho!) All my oats are cradled.
But I am too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger.
I crack a grain. It has no taste to it.
My throat is dry...
O my brothers, I beat my palms, still soft, against the stubble of my harvesting. (You beat your soft palms, too.) My pain is sweet. Sweeter than the oats or wheat or corn. It will not bring me knowledge of my hunger.
poem by Jean Toomer
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It's My Fault
Everything is my fault
I am guilty for everything
Even for loving you
Which of course was a bad thing
You broke my heart
Not only with one girl but three girls
It's my fault
I am not everything you want and need
It's my fault
I can't be like her
I am sorry
It's My fault
poem by Makayla Straight
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I am not hungry
I am not hungry
Hunger is not mine
I am free from hunger.
Hunger is a butterfly
Come to it and welcome it
Wonderland you reach
Without hunger
You could not move an inch
And how you changed yourself
Hunger will tell
Wait a minute.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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No Fault In Women
No fault in women, to refuse
The offer which they most would chuse.
--No fault: in women, to confess
How tedious they are in their dress;
--No fault in women, to lay on
The tincture of vermilion;
And there to give the cheek a dye
Of white, where Nature doth deny.
--No fault in women, to make show
Of largeness, when they're nothing so;
When, true it is, the outside swells
With inward buckram, little else.
--No fault in women, though they be
But seldom from suspicion free;
--No fault in womankind at all,
If they but slip, and never fall.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Hunger Hunger To Worship
hunger hunger building up in heart
hunger hunger mounting building up in soul
hunger need hunger grows grows needs to be sated
hunger need hunger need to worship to worship God
hunger ache pain growing need to rush run to God
to rush back to God’s arms as we met in gift creativity
our souls are out back out upon swift flowing healing water
we are together carried over all all lighter darker ink water
we are together giving always giving love throughout time
hunger hunger to love worship universe creator our God
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Christmas Presents Treasure Hunt
Every year on the first of December
the annual Christmas presents treasure hunt begins.
During the January sales, my wife and I buy
our Christmas presents for the on coming year,
buy them and hide them
and each year we forget where we hid them too.
One year I had a bright idea,
I would draw up a little map,
then my wife decided on a spring clean
moving furniture from one room to another
which rendered my little map rather obsolete.
Hence, the treasure hunt began
and when we had found most of them,
another problem then arose
about who were the presents for.
We drew up a list of everyone
and attached a present to their name,
but nothing is straightforward in our house,
backward maybe.
The list was binned
and we had to start again.
In our search for Christmas presents
something more surprising is what came to light,
a five-year old box of mouldy chocolates
that we had bought for someone
but could not remember who.
Waste not, want not is the key words here,
now who don’t we like
these mouldy old chocolates we will give to them
for their treat this year.
As for all those missing presents that we couldn’t find,
it looks like shopping again
and maybe next year we’ll find the ones we lost
and sit down to figure out someone who we can give them to.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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