Related quotes
Parle-moi…
Parle-moi de jolies fleurs,
Puisque le printemps est au coin du boulevard.
Parle-moi du bonheur,
Parce que les bambins utilisent leurs buvards.
Parle-moi des seins ravissants,
Des chemises féminines et des mains veloutées,
Et tu verras des sourires printaniers,
Qui rendront ton cœur agréable et plaisant.
J'en ai marre de tes jalousies,
De tes mauvaises humeurs et de tes folies.
Parle-moi des choses,
Qui puissent me divertir.
Apporte-moi des roses,
Et parle-moi de l'avenir,
Ou d'un futur certain.
Apporte-moi un pot de vin,
Des cerises et des raisins;
Envoie-moi des bons pains;
Et caresse mes cheveux,
Pour me rendre très heureux.
J'en ai marre de tes niaiseries,
De tes jalousies et de tes folies.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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On Westwell Downes
When Westwell Downes I gan to tread,
Where cleanely wynds the greene did sweepe,
Methought a landskipp there was spread,
Here a bush and there a sheepe:
The pleated wrinkles of the face
Of wave-swolne earth did lend such grace,
As shadowings in Imag'ry
Which both deceive and please the eye.
The sheepe sometymes did tread the maze
By often wynding in and in,
And sometymes round about they trace
Which milkmayds call a Fairie ring:
Such semicircles have they runne,
Such lynes acrosse so trymly spunne
That sheppeards learne whenere they please
A new Geometry with ease.
The slender food upon the downe
Is allwayes even, allwayes bare,
Which neither spring nor winter's frowne
Can ought improve or ought impayre:
Such is the barren Eunuches chynne,
Which thus doth evermore begynne
With tender downe to be orecast
Which never comes to haire at last.
Here and there twoe hilly crests
Amiddst them hugg a pleasant greene,
And these are like twoe swelling breasts
That close a tender fall betweene.
Here would I sleepe, or read, or pray
From early morne till flight of day:
But harke! a sheepe-bell calls mee upp,
Like Oxford colledge bells, to supp.
poem by William Strode
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Rotten bastards
The lot of you.
All of you
You are all rotten bastards.
And I hate you all
All of you
Raped and abused me.
But what goes around comes around.
And revenge will be mine.
Rotten bastards.
You rotten rats.
Rape and abuse.
Is that all you can do?
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Something Rotten
It seems were here i
Miss you something rotten
The stinks are here
Its guaranteed alls forgotten
Down here
Down here its clear that your uncut
Dont fear
Dont fear, keep all this forgotten
Face down
Face down
Face down, I miss you something rotten
Face down
Face down, this crown is broken rotten
Down here, down here, I know its not, its all forgotten
Down here, down here, face down, I miss you something rotten
Down here, down here, it stinks, it stinks of something rotten
Dont fear, dont fear, keep all this forgotten
Theres something rotten down here
Theres something rotten down here
Theres something rotten down here
Theres something rotten down here...
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirty Rotten Shame
I recall the good old days
But thankfully, theyve gone
Now the ponies all are broken nags
That stumble as they groan
And throw the jockeys from their throne
When there are pitches left to dodge
And lions left to tame
But its nothing but a dirty rotten shame
Its a dirty rotten shame
That when youre frivolous and strong
It isnt youth, its fearlessness
That has been wasted on the young
The cruel are in the cradle
And the bishops in the bag
Its nothing but a dirty rotten shame
Now I find life a millionaire
That brags for rags and jewels
A snarling pup is wild enough
But as his anger proves
Hes left to sharpen useless tools
That tear and graze and finer phrase
But few are worth the name
Its nothing but a dirty rotten shame
Its a dirty rotten shame
And that is not an idle boast
When all your courage and your strength
Will leave you as you need it most
When there are lamps to dampen
And cauliflowers to flip
Its nothing but a dirty rotten shame
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Rotten Row
In Rotten Row a cigarette
I sat and smoked, with no regret
For all the tumult that had been.
The distances were still and green,
And streaked with shadows cool and wet.
Two sweethearts on a bench were set,
Two birds among the boughs were met;
So love and song were heard and seen
In Rotten Row.
A horse or two there was to fret
The soundless sand; but work and debt,
Fair flowers and falling leaves between,
While clocks are chiming clear and keen,
A man may very well forget
In Rotten Row.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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For God's sake build not your faith upon Tradition, 'tis as rotten as a rotten Post.
quote by Nicholas Culpeper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chocolate City
Vivica A. Fox, Carmen Electra, Michael Jai White, Robert Ri'chard, Imani Hakim, Tyson Beckford, Darrin Dewitt Henson, Carlito Olivero
by Jean-Claude La Marre from Chocolate City (2015)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Scent of rotten meat
Rafflesia
Titan arum
North American pawpaw
For flies to pollinate them
They must produce
The scent of a rotten meat
Name names in
Your rotten world, now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rotten World Blues
Hey Man
What?
Hey Man
What?
Hey Man
What?
Hey man
What?
Dig this...
Well I went walkin'
Out yesterday
A man was carryin' a sign that says
"The world is gonna end tomorrow
hey buddy got a nickel I can borrow?"
This rotten world's gonna chew you up
Swallow you whole and then spit you back out
The sooner you recognize this simple fact
Then this rotten world gives you what you lack
Old Miss Hedrick she's gettin' down
You don't see her much walkin' 'round town
Well you could say that she needs a little lovin'
Lookin' for a light with her head in the oven
This rotten world's gonna chew you up
Swallow you whole and then spit you back out
The sooner you recognize this simple fact
Then this rotten world gives you what you lack
Let's rock...
Miss Kovalov she's lookin' good
Walkin' her ass through the neighborhood
She knows somethin' that you don't know
Somethin' she learned about a long time ago
This rotten world's gonna chew you up
Swallow you whole and then spit you back out
The sooner you recognize this simple fact
Then this rotten world gives you what you lack
This rotten world's gonna chew you up
Swallow you whole and then spit you back out
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All existing things are really one. We regard those that are beautiful and rare as valuable, and those that are ugly as foul and rotten The foul and rotten may come to be transformed into what is rare and valuable, and the rare and valuable into what is foul and rotten.
quote by Chuang Tzu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell
Goodbye and farewell.
Never again will I see thee in this bored world rotten hell.
I tire of being a rotten snake.
In others eyes the worst of fates.
I have my reasons that nobdy need fear.
I'm just going to slink off and shed one lonsome tear.
poem by Michael McParland
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The Ex-husbands
(This is first-person fiction and the ex-husbands are stereotypical)
'I tried to make it work -
I always tried really hard,
every, every time.
But I guess I must have
tried too hard because
I spoiled them rotten and
then, of course, they were
rotten.
Most of them live downtown
now, and they do seem to be
making progress.
Some of them even have
their very own shopping-carts.'
poem by Nancy Ames
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Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame
some dogs who sleep At night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The rotten fruits
Such a tempting fruit as she is,
With such an adamancy as hers,
She makes my lust of her fall sick
And leaves me, who move to rotten fruits.
Ho! By such acts that she conducts,
What happiness would she derive?
By such denials does she get
Her corporal urges met with?
The rotten fruits overwhelm the eaten ones.
27.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Social Climber
yellow is the color of the social climber
like a vine
with yellow flowers
the dancing lady variety
that thrives on the rotten
barks of trees
that looks for the sunshine
at the top of the trees
the calumnist of the Stars
its food
the rotten lives of other people!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Shepheardes Calender: Januarie
Januarie: Ægloga Prime. Colin Cloute.
A Shepeheards boye (no better doe him call)
when Winters wastful spight was almost spent,
All in a sunneshine day, as did befall,
Led forth his flock, that had been long ypent.
So faynt they woxe, and feeble in the folde,
That now vnnethes their feete could them vphold.
All as the Sheepe, such was the shepeheards looke,
For pale and wanne he was, (alas the while,)
May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke:
Well couth he tune his pipe, and frame his stile.
Tho to a hill his faynting flocke he ledde,
And thus him playnd, the while his shepe there fedde.
Ye gods of loue, that pitie louers payne,
(if any gods the paine of louers pitie):
Looke from aboue, where you in ioyes remaine,
And bowe your eares vnto my doleful dittie.
And Pan thou shepheards God, that once didst loue,
Pitie the paines, that thou thy selfe didst proue.
Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath hath wasted,
Art made a myrrhour, to behold my plight:
Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after hasted
Thy sommer prowde with Daffadillies dight.
And now is come thy wynters stormy state,
Thy mantle mard, wherein thou mas-kedst late.
Such rage as winters, reigneth in my heart,
My life bloud friesing wtih vnkindly cold:
Such stormy stoures do breede my balefull smarte,
As if my yeare were wast, and woxen old.
And yet alas, but now my spring begonne,
And yet alas, yt is already donne.
You naked trees, whose shady leaves are lost,
Wherein the byrds were wont to build their bowre:
And now are clothd with mosse and hoary frost,
Instede of bloosmes, wherwith your buds did flowre:
I see your teares, that from your boughes doe raine,
Whose drops in drery ysicles remaine.
All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere,
My timely buds with wayling all are wasted:
The blossome, which my braunch of youth did beare,
With breathed sighes is blowne away, & blasted,
And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,
As on your boughes the ysicles depend.
Thou feeble flocke, whose fleece is rough and rent,
Whose knees are weak through fast and evill fare:
Mayst witnesse well by thy ill gouernement,
Thy maysters mind is ouercome with care.
Thou weak, I wanne: thou leabe, I quite forlorne:
With mourning pyne I, you with pyning mourne.
A thousand sithes I curse that carefull hower,
Wherein I longd the neighbour towne to see:
And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse the stoure,
Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight, as shee.
Yet all for naught: snch [such] sight hath bred my bane.
Ah God, that loue should breede both ioy and payne.
It is not Hobbinol, wherefore I plaine,
Albee my loue he seeke with dayly suit:
His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdaine,
His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit.
Ah foolish Hobbinol, thy gyfts bene vayne:
Colin them gives to Rosalind againe.
I loue thilke lasse, (alas why doe I loue?)
And am forlorne, (alas why am I lorne?)
Shee deignes not my good will, but doth reproue,
And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne.
Shepheards deuise she hateth as the snake,
And laughes the songes, that Colin Clout doth make.
Wherefore my pype, albee rude Pan thou please,
Yet for thou pleasest not, where most I would:
And thou vnlucky Muse, that wontst to ease
My musing mynd, yet canst not, when thou should:
Both pype and Muse, shall sore the while abye.
So broke his oaten pype, and downe dyd lye.
By that, the welked Phoebus gan availe,
His weary waine, and nowe the frosty Night
Her mantle black through heauen gan overhaile.
Which seene, the pensife boy halfe in despight
Arose, and homeward drove his sonned sheepe,
Whose hanging heads did seeme his carefull case to weepe.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rotten cause frozen hard
Though we gathered together
on a principle but now rolling
off, a ball full of fire bulleting
sparkles repulsing each other
as the same poles disintegrated
like bristle dismantled shooting
star, as it did not have adhesive
power, the means, it is barren,
too, as we were here only for
the repulsion of another rotten
cause, did we have any self
glorification? Yes, buffoon,
we were proud of our falsely claimed honesty, a tool to raise to fall itself down as it has always that inherent quality to raise a finger against honesty itself, accusing of losing it, where as the rotten cause brings the bees together and never ask each other as long as they get bottom full honey in the flower, rotten souls never rise up to ask the cause of freshness of others, the same level the same feather crowded in to frozen hard beyond cryogenic to form a cohesive single ball to roll off.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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